Avengers: The Rubbish Bin
by LodestarJumper
Summary: Snippets that didn't make it into stories, along with discontinued works. (No slash, no smut)
1. Chapter 1

**So I have about 120,000+ words of junk sitting in a document, and I was looking over it for a few minutes a couple of months ago and decided to leave it out here as an idea generator for my fellow writers, and abruptly cut of scenes for everyone else. :)**

**There is NO smut, slash, non-con, or incest in this. Language is all K, loves! **

**IF YOU DECIDE TO BASE STORIES OFF OF THESE-****_leave me credit _****_please! _****You can ask, but you don't ****_have _****to, although I would love to read it, so let me know if you do! Credit will look like this: "Based off of LodestarJumper's 'Avengers: The Rubbish Bin'" Thank you! =D**

**Everyone else-enjoy!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: I had this huge goal to create a one-shot series based on Peter and Tony's relationship, but...that didn't happen. #GotBored. This is a small, sort of connected jumping bits...so yep. **

**Characters: Tony, Peter, other medical people**

**Warnings: Uh...poison? **

**Written: 2017 some time. :) **

**Note: Not checked for spelling or grammar! **

* * *

There are few things that Tony Stark truly despises in this world but being woken up after he finally remembers he's a human being and one of the necessities being so is sleep, is one of those. Letting out a rather loud and obnoxious groan Tony grabs his blanket, his nice, warm, soft blanket and pulls it over his head. "Fr'day." He mumbles.

The call is silenced and Tony gives a sigh of relief not really caring that it's the middle of the night and it's probably urgent. Whoever is calling can tell him the urgent message...tomorrow. He doesn't care right now. His bed is calling and who is he to deny it's love?

The phone blares again and Tony childishly grabs his pillow pulling it over his ears. Friday doesn't silence it and he glares at the ceiling for a moment showing his displeasure with her actions before finally rolling over towards the bedside table hand smacking against it as he reaches for his phone.

His annoying, singing, loud, phone.

"Friday…" He moans. Friday is quiet for a moment before her loud, blaring voice pounds into his head. Being realistic, it was rather silent but at the moment it's anything but that: "Boss, Peter Parker is calling."

Tony flips his phone on slightly annoyed but some concern is building. "Why? Does he know that it's," Tony pauses his angry rant to glance up at the clock, "Three twenty seven in the morning? I swear if this is nothing…" He grumbles mostly to himself swinging his feet over the bed and answering the call ignoring Friday's snarky response of: "I don't suspect so, Boss."

"Peter? You are aware it's the middle of the night right? Because I really don't want to have to-" Tony starts to ramble in annoyance but is cut off as Peter completely ignores his previous words.

"Mr. Stark?"

The two words sound like a gasping breath and Tony's immediately more alert and jerks upwards in the bed pushing the phone against his ear more aggressively as if it will somehow make Peter talk more.

"Peter?" He questions in response.

"I-I'm sorry," The teen's voice is slurring. Tony's concern grows more. Tony glances down at his clothing, he didn't change before he crashed. Tony glances around blurrily trying to locate shoes and socks he almost misses Peter's next few words: "To interrupt your sleep. Can I crash at your place?"

"What, why?" Tony asks and stands eyes sweeping around the dark room looking for a pair of socks.

Peter hesitates, "Please Mr. Stark? If not, I totally understand, I can call Ned, actually I think that I'll do that-"

"It's fine," Tony interrupts. If Peter can do it, he can too. That's the way it works. Where are his socks? Tony stumbles towards the dresser ripping open the top drawer. Ah, his lovely socks. "I have more than enough rooms...just why?"

"I-I…" Peter trails off for a moment.

Tony's eyebrows meet in confusion for a moment and he pauses, "What about your aunt?"

Peter is quiet.

A dread settles in Tony's stomach.

"Peter, did something happen?" Tony asks moving back towards the bed his socks in hand. He sits on the edge and shoves a sock onto his right foot.

"N-no." Peter answers quickly.

"I really hate to be the person to tell you this kiddo, but you are a terrible liar." Tony sighs slightly. "Where are you? You can come over, we'll talk then."

Peter gives a quiet sigh of relief, "Thank you Mr. Stark. I'm about ten minutes away. Also, do you have bandages?"

000o000

Tony stumbles into the living room of Avengers Tower (of which he didn't sell after some debate) roll of gauze in one hand looking semi like a normal human being. His hair is probably a mess but he couldn't care less. Where is Peter? It's been almost fifteen minutes. He did say ten right?

"Boss, Mr. Parker has landed outside."

Okay. Great. Tony moves forward as Peter shoves the glass door open looking like he got ran over by a truck. Tony raises an eyebrow suddenly much more confident in his bed ruffled appearance.

Peter looks up at him giving a sigh of relief and a small lopsided grin. His suit is torn across his chest where said Parker has a hand wrapped around it. Tony points towards the couch and Peter moves towards it looking highly uncomfortable. Though it's been about four months since the Vulture debacle, Peter hasn't really been in the tower. Usually Tony and him meet up other places rather than here. Okay..the two times since then. Peter stopped spamming his voice mail and Tony was subconsciously thinking about tracking him down if he didn't show his face soon.

Peter collapses on the couch hissing slightly and Tony takes a seat across him. "Friday, get the lights will you?" Tony asks.

"Certainly, Boss." Friday says and the lights brighten slightly. Tony frowns as he stares at the bleeding wound before moving his hand forward to grab Peter's wrist and move his hand. Peter flinches slightly and Tony frowns.

"This is bad. What did you do? Sit under a laser?"

"No," Peter protests. He runs a hand through his dirty hair, "there was just this guy with a knife and it and me didn't agree to much."

""Too much"? You look like you got ran over by a lawn mower." Tony argues. Peter flinches as Tony moves his hand away from the long, deep cut across his ribcage. The older of the two gives a low whistle.

"Okay, I'll admit it, I am impressed."

Peter grumbles something that Tony doesn't catch but the Stark still raises an eyebrow like he did. "I'm not a surgeon, Kid."

"I...I didn't think you were. I'm just...it hurts...and...May is going to kill me!" Peter jerks upwards and nearly collides foreheads with Tony. Said Stark tips backwards in surprise and his eyebrows meet in concern as Peter gives a cry of pain and promptly crumbles onto the floor.

Tony bites his lip slightly and sighs through his teeth before leaning down and grabbing Peter's shoulder. The concern is building to anxiety swirling through his chest like a bird with a broken wing and Tony grips the limb beneath his right hand slightly tighter before shaking him several times.

"Underoos? Peter? Peter, answer me." All humor is stripped from his voice as the teen doesn't respond and Tony flips Peter onto his back letting out a soft curse as he sees how pale the high schooler is.

"Peter? Peter this isn't funny, wake up." Tony commands his voice growing louder and slightly more high pitched in his panic. Peter remains limp and Tony lurches for the bandages on the couch fingers wrapping around the white cloth before he rips the layer of tape off to keep it in a tight ball and begins to wrap it around the worst of the wounds.

"Friday, where's the nearest hospital?" Tony demands tightening the strips. Steve gave the Avengers a crash course on medical care a few years back, so Tony isn't helpless but he's not Bruce.

"The nearest hospital is twenty minutes away, Boss. Although it doesn't appear Mr. Parker will make it that long. His vitals are crashing fast." Friday answers.

"What? Why?" Tony collects Peter's crumbled form into his arms bridal style noticing subconsciously that the teen is light. Is that normal? Are teenangers supposed to be heavier? Peter feels paper thin. That's not normal. He's shaking, he's dying.

The thought hits Tony like a brick through a window and he stumbles slightly.

Peter is dying.

He may never smile at him, ask his never ending stream of questions, save another person, be Spiderman, stutter, complain about homework ever again.

"Friday-!" He starts to shout but the AI beats him to it.

"I have already alerted the medical, Boss. You need to hurry." Her tone is lightly laced with worry and Tony can feel it pulsing beneath his veins like a second heart. He takes off into a sprint, trying to not jostle Peter to much but at the same time get their swiftly. Man, Peter's aunt isn't going to kill her nephew, she's going to kill him.

Tony crashes into the medial words flying from his mouth that don't make sense to him. Peter is taken from him gently and the panic only increases, "Wait! I have to see if he's okay. He-"

"Mr. Stark, you should sit down." One of the nurses, Melisa if he remembers right instructs putting a hand on his shoulder. No touchy! His mind argues violently. He has to get to Peter because it's suddenly collapsing on top of him that Peter is dying, and he was laughing and joking when Peter was in pain. He should have been serious from the start-and why oh why does he always mess up with Peter? He's always doing something wrong and now Peter's going to die when he could have stopped it and instead he might've been to slow. It's Pepper all over again and Rhodey, Cap...everyone he wasn't fast enough for.

"No!" Tony argues, "That's my kid! I have to be with him; I have to-"

"Mr. Stark I'm afraid that if you don't calm down we're going to have to sedate you." Melissa says. All fondness for the woman slips from him. Melissa grabs his shoulders and shoves him into a seat and he distantly notices that his hands are shaking and she pats him sympathetically on the shoulder. "We'll be in to give you an update in an hour or so. I need to go help them, will you be alright?"

No.

No he will not.

Not until Peter is.

He nods stiffly, anyway.

Melissa strides off down the hall and begins to yell orders as the door slams and everything grows quiet. Tony stares down at his shaking hands and lets out a slow breath trying not to slip into a panic attack. His left hand fumbles for his phone that he stuffed into his pocket earlier and he dials the first number. Please pick up, please pick up, I know it's early but please pick up…

"Tony?" Pepper's voice sends a rush of calm through him. Because though it isn't alright and he has the strong urge to punch something but scream and sob at the same time her voice is safe. Secure. "Is something wrong?"

Tony lets out a shaky breath. "Peter's injured. It's bad Pepper. There was so much blood and I-I-" His voice is shaking and sounds panicked and he's starting to realize that his lungs feel tight and he's not sure what to do about it. It he world supposed to be so blurry? No. That doesn't seem right.

"Tony, Babe," Pepper's voice grounds him to the present. "I'm on my way okay, but I'll be a few hours. I'm not going to hang up, breathe. Alright? Deep breaths. It's okay. Everything's alright. Peter will be fine."

Peter will be fine.

The words echo in his head softly and Tony gasps in a breath. "Okay. Okay. Yeah." He says and Pepper begins to talk to him softly. About how things are going at SI, how she wants to fire an employee badly but doesn't want to at the same time because she sees potential in him though he's driving her crazy, how she nearly burned down her apartment this morning when she wasn't paying attention to the eggs she was cooking. Anything and everything just rambling.

Tony slowly begins to calm down and even adds a comment here and there that makes Pepper laugh.

When she gets there close to four hours later, there still isn't any news. She sits down next to him and grabs his hand giving it a quick squeeze. Letting him know that she's here for him and that their going to make it through this. Tony gives her a grateful smile and the two raise their heads in almost sync as the doctor steps back into the room.

"Peter's stable for now. The blade was poisoned but we managed to flush it out, he's awake and you can see him now." Melissa says.

Tony gets to his feet and moves forward towards the room Pepper trailing behind him. When he steps into the room his heart flip-flops. Peter is still deathly pale and hooked to over a dozen machines but alive. His eyes are slitted and he gives a tired smile at the sight of Tony.

"Hey, Mr. Stark." His voice is quiet.

"Peter, I'm sorry. I just-I can't believe how stupid I reacted.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: For how much I love Wanda and Pietro, I really haven't done anything with it. This was an idea I had so long ago to have the Winter Solider rescue Pietro and Wanda before Age of Ultron.**

**I...couldn't get the plot to work, so yeah, this is really more of a snippet, and Pietro and Wanda never made it into what I did write. **

**Characters: Bucky,.**

**Warnings: Implied/referenced torture. **

**Written: 2017 some time. :) **

**Note: Not checked for spelling or grammar! **

* * *

The Soldier didn't have emotions.

"_Wipe him; and start over."_

He wasn't supposed to, it tampered with missions and his goal, his purpose, was to complete them with perfect accuracy. It's who he is. _What _he was. He never delt with them before because they destroyed his purpose. Emotions tampered with things and made it explicitly harder to get what he was required to done.

He's supposed to be fast and efficient, with nothing tampering his focus. And he was.

The _Winter Soldier _is a name that was spoken with fear for the few who knew it-and why shouldn't it? He's a weapon, he's _deadly. _

He didn't deter from them. He didn't. He knew his purpose, what was the point of messing with it? There wasn't any. That was that, signed and sealed, packaged and received. He never felt the need to go against his programming because what he _is_ is perfect, or so he's been told, over and over.

He's a weapon, weapons don't weap. They don't have emotions or a desire to change. They lock onto their target and destroy it. There isn't a desire-a _pleading _for knowledge beyond that of what they have. His missions, the ice, it's all he knows and all he _needs _to. There shouldn't be anything else.

Then why does he want more?

"_I knew him." _

The three little words shattered the little magical snow globe of ignorance and innocence he'd been carrying like a ripple over the surface of water. He knew him. Did the man, Steve Rogers even realize what he's done? He ruined everything with his presence. Now, he's struggling to figure out where he stands. Like the beginning of spring after a long winter.

Rogers name brings the sense of _family _and the Soldier hates it. He's a weapon.

_He's a weapon._

Yet, he's still so, so _human._

Where he's placed his feet feels awkward and shaky, almost like he's horribly off balance, leaning against a completed tilted world.

It's. Driving. Him. Insane.

Some would call him crazy, for coming back to pain but like an addiction, the Soldier couldn't stop. Programming or just the helplessness of it brought him dragging his feet towards the nearest Hydra base dirty, angry and confused.

"_I'm with you to the end of the line." _

He hates it-yet he can't stop thinking about Steve, Natalia and that day on the Helicarriers. It's playing on his mind in an endless loop and no matter how much hair tugging he does, it doesn't go away.

The first word he would use is: frustration. He can feel the edges of his mind scrambling to keep something from him, almost like overflowing bucket of water with the liquid spilling over the edges. There's something just so clearly _there _and he _can't grasp it. _He's not supposed to want to though, and that's driving him to the brink of insanity. He want's to know but he _can't._

The second word would be: sibling. Steve is familiar to him, almost like a lost younger brother he had no idea he was related to. Maybe they are-but that's insane because he's old and he _knows _he's old. Steve didn't look older than maybe twenty three-five. There's no way they could have known each other in his past life. He knows there's _more _though, than his programming and he wishes the worlds would stop battling and just let one victor.

Hydra didn't know what to do with him since S.H.I.E.L.D. collapsed, now they're on the run and can't ship him out to Russia to put him on ice. It's the longest he's been awake except for the time he was tracking some famous person and he's not entirely sure what to think about it. It's truly pathetic, though, because he's always been so adapt to the missions than the ice there's been little time to actually let his thoughts drift.

It's strange. Yet thrilling.

The cell they put him in is small, dark and smells oddly of burning toast. He's not entirely sure where the burning smell came from and he has little desire to rip apart the facility to find out. There's a long chain attached to his ankle that he can move around the whole cell in with little difficulty if the grinding metal doesn't drive him crazy first. He can't break through the chain-even with his metal arm. It's made of some sort of reinforced steel that reminds the Soldier of Steve's shield.

He hasn't really shifted his position since he arrived here weeks ago. Only moving to grab the bits of food they stuff in and pace the length of the cell a dozen times over. With the serum he was injected with, his muscles don't get fatigue or wear out no matter how much he just sits there. He would have long been skin and bones if they could.

His dark hair is strung in front of his face blocking his vision slightly but he isn't paying attention to it. Or anything else, really. His mind is just drifting aimlessly. The door to the cell has a glass plating towards the top and he can see through it towards the brightly lit hallway beyond. He's pretty sure he's in the upper levels of the base-probably near the labs.

He's saw dozens of people walk by daily for a while, most of them didn't come back.

The Soldier shifts his position grinding his back against the cold wall but through the thick fabric of his shirt he can't feel the chill. He doesn't mind cold, really, it actually makes him think clearer. He doesn't like ice and goes out of his way to avoid it (which can get ridiculous with his missions that are more north) but he manages...sort of.

To be completely honest with himself, with only his thoughts for company, the Soldier is admittedly, uneasy. He hasn't seen anyone in over two months since he dragged himself back here and they tossed him into the cell. He hasn't tried to escape, just move around the cell pacing back and forth because (as much as he hates it) the Soldier is fidgety. It isn't an emotion he's used to, but being honest with himself, he isn't really familiar with _any. _

All he knows is the missions, compliance and loyalty.

Confusion is definitely at the top of the first ten emotions he's experienced. Rogers threw him far and hard. It showed him that there was something _else _beyond what he was made for. He doesn't know what to do with the information. On one hand, the Soldier would love to toss himself into the fray and see where it takes him; on the other he doesn't want to break his programming.

Maybe it's less that he _doesn't. _

More that he _can't. _

The Soldier lets out a soft sigh and leans back deeper into the wall. He's already pressing heavily into the cold stone so he's slightly impressed with himself that he managed to get any further. On the plus side, he supposes, he's properly caught up on any missed sleep. Not that he really needs to, he's spent _years _sleeping frozen.

The Soldier whips his head upwards as footsteps ring across the dirty ground in the hall between the cells. At least ten pairs of boots. There hasn't been this many men walking down the hall...ever. He hasn't heard this many as long as he's been down here which is starting to feel like a _long, long _time.

The Soldier stiffens considerably as the door to his cell screeches open. The man, Strucker, stands in the doorway his frame blocking out a lot of the light which the Soldier is grateful for. His eyes still sting at the light that does come through but he blinks several times, doing nothing else. He suddenly misses his glasses.

The Soldier rises to his feet in respect to his superior his legs numb from the position he's been sitting in, unmoving for days. He bites his lower lip but watches Strucker carefully. Has he come with a mission?

Strucker tosses something through the air that the Soldier catches by reflex with his metallic arm. He opens his palm to reveal a metallic key. The Soldier lowers his gaze to the chain wrapped around his boot before he kneels and shoves the key into the lock. The metal grinds against each other in a painful screech that he flinches at but the cuff falls away from his foot clanking against the ground.

"Asset," Strucker calls and the Soldier raises his head before straightening. "Come with me."

He isn't permitted to ask questions, but right now he wants to.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: So...genderbend. It was a thing for a little. So...yeah. **

**Characters: Peter (genderbended), Tony, May, **

**Warnings: None**

**Written: 2017 some time. :) **

**Note: Not checked for spelling or grammar! **

* * *

She really should be used to the fact that her life and normal run in parallel lines; always near each other but never intersecting. She's never had a life of normal per-say since she was little, but things have only gotten worse since she got older. Maybe she should just start keeping a chart, "how many things can go wrong in one lifetime?" With her luck, she'll be on top of everyone else before she's in her twenties.

Prynn lets out another frustrated growl through her teeth and glares at the large, black, hissing cat sitting on the DVD player. It's in perfect shape, a little dented here and there but the distinct lack of repair needs is what caught her eye when she first saw it. Then the cat, the stupid, large, annoyingly possessive cat sat on it claiming it at it's own. Does she really want it? Maybe she can come back for it later…

Prynn pinches the bridge of her nose. Really? You stop cars from crashing into buses without breaking sweat, catch muggers and dodge bullets almost every other night but you can't deal with a cat? The thing is like way smaller than you anyway Prynn_. But...it's a cat._

Exactly.

Prynn releases her face before moving forward shouldering her backpack more before waving her hands towards the animal, "Shoo," she commands. The cat looks up at her large brown eyes displeased. Prynn purses her lips tightly before waving her hands some more. The cat's back arches fur spiking with it's anger and Prynn swallows the desire to leap backwards.

She hates cats, oh man, she hates cats.

Prynn releases a slow breath and moves forward towards the cat with purpose, fake it till you make it. If she pretends she has a lot of confidence about it, it'll leave right? The black cat growls lowly before scampering off away from her with wide eyes. Prynn exhales softly in relief before leaning down to grab the DVD player. Her shoulder length layered hair falls over her shoulders obscuring her vision slightly her side bangs falling away from her face.

Prynn grabs the DVD player and grabs a large chunk of cat hair from off of the top. _Uh, ew._ She's never getting a cat when she's older. Ever. Period. Signed and settled.

Prynn releases a heavy breath and tucks the machine under her arm and shoulders her backpack before moving away from they alleyway and back onto the streets.

Drash digger and proud of it-it's not as though she and her aunt are rolling in money anyway. After the death of her uncle, her aunt is struggling financially so Prynn does her best to keep cost low on herself. On the bare necessities. Not even that sometimes. There managing, though so she's grateful for that. A lot could be going worse-though she's not tempting the universe.

Prynn tucks the DVD player close to her chest as she starts to shuffle through the crowd. New York City is a populated for sure and because she's never been anywhere else but the New York she's used to it. According to her aunt and uncle when she was younger her parents would travel all over the countries for their business. Though she, apparently, just got in the way of that. Her parents ditched her at six leaving her on her aunt and uncle's doorstep without a letter or a reasoning on why just a simple, "bye, see ya' never".

They died in a plane crash the next day.

Her aunt and uncle did their best to care for her, though neither one of them have had much time for her. Both had to work to pay for her child needs and though she was close with her uncle, her aunt feels more like a distant sister at college that just returned home. It's hard sometimes.

Prynn tucks the loose hairs from her braid behind her ear and balances the weight of her backpack better across her shoulders. After the spiderbite, it hasn't felt as heavy-or heavy at all, really. It went from feeling like she's dragging around a tracker on her back to a feather. She's not complaining, though, but sometimes the abilities she gained still manage to surprise her. She'll never be a Captain America or Tony Stark but she'll do what she can to help.

After nearly fifteen minutes of shuffling through the city, avoiding running into people and battling through the ground Prynn steps off of the elevator to the third floor of the apartment building as it gives a low _ding _behind her.

Prynn digs through her jacket pocket for a moment looking for the keys biting her lip slightly. The people talking around her are still managing to make her head buzz even though her earbuds are stuffed into her ears as far as humanly possible and the sound turned up to beyond what's safely recommended.

Prynn shoves the key into the lock and twists it her backpack sliding down to her forearm before stepping into the small apartment. The house they used to own was bigger but after Ben's death, they had to downsize. She's not complaining, it's her fault anyway.

Prynn takes a few steps into the apartment and her heightened senses immediately trace her aunt to the couch a few paces away and someone else. Weird. Is she dating? That doesn't seem right, though because May is still very much grieving over her late husbands death.

"Hey, Aunt May." Prynn calls as she takes a few steps forward and swings her backpack over her shoulder more. Does she have any interesting information to relay to her aunt? Um...beyond the fact that she's still deathly afraid of cats...no. Well, there was that really expensive car parked outside that couldn't have belonged to anyone in the apartment complex because A: everyone living here is dirt poor and B: see above.

Prynn kicks the door closed with her foot as she dumped her backpack off next to the kitchen table and takes a few more steps forward. "Hey," May calls back from the living room area of the apartment and Prynn sets the DVD player on the messy table next the laundry basket with what she assumes is halted landry.

"How was school?" May asks and Prynn tugs out her earbuds shrugging slightly to herself. The usual. Flash hitting on her, Ned Star Wars-ing out, Michile watching them both creepily and Misty and her giggling gang of gits being jerks. So..nothing different.

"Meh," Prynn says as she takes a few more steps forward pulling her sleeves over her web shooters, "okay," Prynn moves in front of the living room area where the couch is facing the TV. "There's this crazy car parked outside…" Prynn feels her voice die abruptly as her fangirl sense go off.

Her aunt is twisted around long hair falling over her shoulders a smile stretched across her lips. Prynn's attention however, is fixed on the man next to her spinning a piece of date-nut bread casually between his fingers.

_Tony Stark._

_Tony freaking Stark is in her apartment._

What is he doing here?

Why is he here?

...does he know?

Wait, wait, wait. Just-what?

Prynn's arms fold awkwardly over her chest as the web shooters dig into her wrists as she feels her eyes widen beyond normal human capabilities. Tony's gaze sweeps over her in less than a second Prynn sees a glimpse of confusion flash through his eyes so quickly she's sure she imagined it.

"Oh, Ms. Parker." Tony says and gives a lopsided grin of greeting.

Prynn's mouth is dry.

Why can't she think of anything to say. All that's coming to her mind is poetic, "um, um, um,"'s. _Iron Man _is _sitting on her couch. _

Focus, Py.

"Um," Prynn stutters, _amazing, did we not just discuss how pitiful that word is? _Shush. "..What? What are you doing-" Prynn points at him slightly before tucking her arm in close to her chest again. Pointing is rude. "Hey, I-I-I'm Prynn."

"Tony." His voice sounds so...confident. Prynn can't really get her head to wrap around that. He sounds just like she remembers him from the Stark Expo a few years ago yet at the same time...different. How does he manage to look comfortable here? She feels so awkward and out of place.

This has to be some sort of superficial dream. DId she get hit on the head in gym?

"Wh-wh-what are you doing here?" Prynn scrambles to get her tongue in working order.

May's eyes are wide as she looks over at her and mouths, "_I don't believe it" _as Tony smirks, "It's about time we met. You've been getting my emails right?"

_Emails? _

_Err..._

No.

Tony winks twice and Prynn struggles to keep her expression from falling apart to "_uh, no, not at all" _in front of May. Okay, emails...sure. She'll play along for now then see what he wants later.

"Yeah." Prynn agrees, slightly shakily.

"Right." Tony says in agreement.

"Yeah." She agrees firmier. "Regarding the…"

"You didn't even tell me about the grant." May accuses and Prynn lifts her hand up towards her aunt. It's good that Mr. Stark discussed...whatever this white lie is beforehand with his aunt or she would be painting white on black to make this seem believable. It doesn't work.

"About the grant." Prynn finishes.

"The Septemeber foundation," Tony adds, waving his hand slightly towards her.

"Right." Prynn says.

"Yeah." Tony agrees. "Remember when you applied."

Uh...no. Sorry sir, I never did.

"...Yeah." Prynn agrees. May's hands move erratically across the couch top in a severe, _what? _Motion.

"I approved." Tony says and turns his body more fully towards her. Prynn's eyebrows lower slightly as she sees a fading black eye over his right one. That looks painful. Prynn's hand her fareshare from hero-ing and school so she's fully aware that it's tender. Why does he have it on his face anyway? "So now we're in business." Tony takes a sip of whatever the drink is from a teacup covered in flowers and sunshine that doesn't seem to fit him very well.

"But you didn't tell me anything. What's up with that? Are you keeping secrets from me now?" May accuses in frustration and Prynn feels her stomach sink. _You have no idea. _

"Well...it's just that I know how much you love surprises so…" Prynn spreads her hands in an arc slightly before tucking them back behind her back and turning her attention to Tony...Stark...in her house. _This sort of thing doesn't happen to lame, freaky people like her. _"So what is it exactly that I applied for?"

"That's what I'm here to hash out." Tony answers and Prynn nods. Okay. Great. Fantastic.

"Okay, hash..out." She echoes.

Tony, apparently seeking to ease the tension turns his gaze back to May, "You know, it's so hard for me to believe she's someone's aunt." Tony smiles at Prynn who can feel the confusion playing across her face. Isn't he in a relationship near rings with Ms. Potts?

"Yeah, well they come in all shapes and sizes you know." May argues a sheepish smile across her face. She doesn't meet Tony or Prynn's gaze staring at her fingers playing at the top of the couch.

"This walnut dateloaf is exceptional." Tony says and grabs another piece from off the coffee table. Okay. _Weird_.

"Let me just stop you there." Prynn says and Tony turns back to her.

"Yeah?"

"Does this grant have money involved or whatever...No?" Prynn guesses and Tony's head tilts back and forth slightly, if she wasn't staring at him so hard she would miss it.

"Yeah...it's pretty well funded."

"Wow."

"Look who you're talking too." Tony snarks before turning back to May, "Can I have five minutes with her?"

May nods and turns her gaze to the billionaire, "Sure."

000o000

Tony shuts the door and flips the lock standing there for a moment before moving across the room to the garbage can in the corner and leans over it dropping the date-loaf piece he had in his mouth into it. Prynn sweeps her gaze across her room trying to make sure she doesn't have anything super embarrassing laying around.

Nope. There's a pile of discarded clothes in one corner and hair stuff scattered across her desk but other than that, it's relatively contained to the usual mess. Prynn tries not to be a messy person and they bother everywhere else but the room is an exception.

Tony looks back at her, "As far as walnut date loafs go, that wasn't bad."

Irrelevant.

Prynn is quiet. Tony takes her silence as invitation to study her room and turns to the desk a smirk spilling across his face like he's been told a funny joke. The modifiers aren't the most up-to-date thing but Prynn is quite proud that she found them in as good of shape as they were and managed to fix it.

Now she just wants to find the nearest hole and stuff her head in it in embarrassment.

"Ooh, what do we have here? Retro tech." Tony points at various things lying on the desk, "Thrift store? Salvation army?"

"The, uh, garbage actually." Prynn corrects, her voice quiet.

Tony raises an eyebrow, "You're a dumpster diver?"

_Meow! _Withhold the claws, sir! Yes, she is!

Prynn feels her face flame slightly and she covers it with her hands for a moment resisting the urge to moan. After a second, she pulls them back and folds her arms over her chest, "Look, um, I definitely didn't apply for your grant-" Prynn starts to say but Tony lifts up a hand with a phone in it interrupting her.

"Ah-ah! Me first."

Prynn feels herself shrink more, "Okay."

"Quick question of the rhetorical variety." Tony says and presses a button on his phone and a holographic image spills out. Prynn's eyes widen with amazement before she see's what's playing. Spider-Man is swinging from a building tugging away a mugger and Tony looks at her from over the top of the "screen". "That's you, right?"

Yes.

It is.

Though the world knows Spider-Man as well...a man, she's managed to keep her female identity strictly apart from that. She wears fabric over her mouth to muffle her voice and as far as the media and press are concerned Spider-Man is strictly male.

Apparently, not to Tony Stark though.

"Um, no." Prynn says and does her best to pull on a confused face. "What do you mean-?"

"Yeah." Tony says, anyway, and flips the phone again showing a different screen. "Look at you go." Spider-Man swings through a street and grabs a car from smashing into a bus. That hadn't been easy and had taken quick movement and pressure to stop the two vehicles from ramming into each other. She wasn't sore the next day, though she thought she'd be. "Wow, nice catch. For thousand pounds, forty miles an hour, that isn't easy." Tony says and flips the phone again before closing it the images disappear and Prynn feels frustration and panic pulse through her.

Why does he care? Spider-Man isn't doing anything wrong and he's an _Avenger. _He has larger problems.

"You got mad skills." Tony adds and Prynn tosses her bangs from her face.

"Sir, I hate to be the one to rain on your parade but Spider-Man is..._male." _Prynn says and her tongue slips, "Hence the "man" part."

Tony snorts, "Yeah. I'd love to agree with that, and admittedly, it threw me off a little." Tony turns away from her, "But only just a little."

Okay time for phase two. "But that's on YouTube right? That's where you found it? Because you know it's fake, all the effects are done on a computer."

"Mhmm." Tony hums.

"It's like that video. What is it?" Prynn says scrambling to come up with one.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." Tony calls behind her, "Oh you mean like those UFO's over Phoenix."

"Yes! Exactly!" Prynn agrees then whips her head around towards him as he smacks the trapdoor to the small attic like space above her bedroom and her costume, in all it's glory falls through the air. Prynn leaps forward adrenaline pulsing through her veins and grabs the red-suit tossing it towards her closet on top of a textbook.

"Oh, what have we here?" Tony asks sarcastically behind her.

_Cats._

Prynn turns back to the billionaire and all she can come up with is a simple, "Uh…"


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: Lots and lots of attempts from me to have a Loki-building-friendship-with-Avengers. This is one of those. **

**Characters: Tony, Clint, Steve, Thor, Steve, Natasha, Loki. **

**Warnings: Injuries, jerk-y guy. **

**Written: 2017 some time. :) **

**Note: Not checked for spelling or grammar! **

* * *

If someone had told Tony that morning, that life would take a swift tumble downwards in a few hours, he would have laughed, slapped them, then shipped them off for fear they'd gone mad. It really wasn't supposed to be any more than a simple mission. All they were doing was guarding weapons for S.H.I.E.L.D., nothing big, nothing to _worry _about. Why should they have? They'd done it dozens of times before each catching more and more yawns as time when on because it was such a mundane task that didn't _matter _until it did.

Realistically, no one had tried to attack the shipments before anyway, so yeah, they had their guard down. S.H.I.E.L.D. is just a continuous saga of paranoia and unnecessary precautions. They tagged along because they were _told _to and Fury would have their heads, arms and feet mounted on his office wall of they didn't. Tony had been so tired of doing the same stupid job again and again that he'd been driving _with _the other Avengers throwing around sarcastic comments in his exasperation. His desire to tug at his hair had been so ridiculously strong that if he didn't have a helmet on, he would have been bald by now.

Was it wrong that in that moment, Tony desperately wished for some other world crises to strike them? Something other than watching over trucks like they've been doing every other day for the last three weeks?

The whole point of it was for them to be extra ears and eyes, more protection, more _observance _but honestly, someone standing behind the snow the tires were kicking up unable to see a little more than white and dirt would have seen more. There wasn't exactly a focus point on any of them except maybe _Steve _but even then, it still wasn't really there.

_They weren't ready._

Jarvis had caught it about three seconds before it actually hit. The pulse beam, designed to kill all tech, amped up to such high intensity that his suit and the car died with a pathetic whirring before he was rendered useless in less than a second. Tony had forced the suit to release before they hit, he had tumbled out a warning on his lips to his team but all there had been was a choked scream than gunfire.

It started in almost every direction and Steve's shield had caught the brunt of it for everyone before the engine was the next victim. The feeling of weightlessness sticks to someone like an annoying sticker trapped at the bottom of a shoe. It's not his first time flying unwantedly and Tony sincerely hopes it's the last. There had just been _pain _in every part of his body before distant screaming and shouting then suddenly there had been _all these guns _in his face and Tony only blinked stupidly at them.

Though the rising panic and anxiety was rising steadily as memories from Afghanistan pulsed through his head like a child playing with glitter; the one thought he can really remember before he blacked out is the distinct: "_I guess I won't be attending the stupid board meeting after all." _then the dry frustrated, "_Pepper's going to kill me."_

Whenever they get found. Yep, his fiance will be unhappy and probably slap him. To be honest, he isn't sure who to point the finger at. Beyond maybe at himself. If he'd been in the air, he would have seen the beam before it hit them head on. His team would be safe or at least the brunt of it would have missed them. They wouldn't have been in this situation.

The screaming keeps echoing in his ears.

He had to mentally stabilize himself with multiple mental kicks. It isn't the first time he's been kidnapped in his life. He's the son of a multi-billionaire, people literally saw the cash sign above his head. Afghanistan pokes out like a hot rod by the sole _pain _of it.

Tony Stark isn't an idiot. Yeah, he flaunts the label "genius" with pride and smirks but in all honesty, he _isn't stupid. _He knows when to stop pushing buttons (even if he ignores it sometimes) and when to stop throwing out his arrogance mask. He knows that most people who interact with him think he's a jerk, self absorbed and just plain annoying-admittedly, he's proud of the mask he pulls on. Now, though?

No, there isn't a mask.

Only fear.

Although Tony has had _more _than his fair share of headaches in his lifetime, this one takes all the cake. It's pulsing in the back of his head like a small happy drum that a child has gotten a hold of and isn't relenting or holding anything back. It's branding into his forehead with such intensity that Tony can't hold back a groan of pain that escapes his lips, faint as it is. His eye-lids _ache _and for the first time in all his twenty-seven years, Tony can honestly say that his eyelashes hurt.

Everywhere around him is cool, almost like he's leaning against ice and his head is hanging against his chest his chin pressed against the upper edge of his arc reactor. The blue glow has a slight warmth to it that is out of place with the coldness of the rest of the room.

Tony peels his eyes open slightly, then blinks sluggishly. The room is dark. This, stupidly, disappoints him. He _knew _without a shallow of a doubt that he and his team for sure were _not _in Stark Medical despite his desperate, childish hoping that they were.

His wrists hurt, badly, actually and his entire body is stiff, his back is leaning against something and his shoulders feel tight and tense. Tony forces his muscles to relax slightly to lessen the strain before slowly lifting his head, minding his explosive headache, and pulls his eyes open.

The area is about the size of the landing bay on Avengers Tower. There's a row of desks with various mechanical sprinklings spread everywhere, lights are glowing softly against the far wall lighting the gleaming metal to a dull gleam. The walls are an ancient grey and a sinking suspicion slowly starts to gnaw at the back of Tony's mind.

Despite the lights, everything looks suspiciously like the inside of a medieval prison. There aren't any torture devices, or really anything to loudly proclaim it, but Tony's seen enough of them from his mother's odd fascination with it and the various vacations they would take there when he was a child. Across from him is a shadowed corner where the lights don't reach but a low red light is blinking every other second or so. Tony notes it mentally, but does nothing else on it. Tony turns his head slowly, wincing, as his headache flares in protest and spots the rest of his team.

Natasha is closest to him and looks utterly terrible. Tony can't remember much of the battles but he does remember Nat's scream and Clint shouting her name. His suit was useless and Tony was trying to find a weapon but-he shakes himself from the memories and bites his lip staring at her for another moment.

Her hair is a tousled mess that will likely take at least a week to untangle properly she has several bruises on her face from what he can see in the poor lighting and a lazily wrapped mid-section that starting to stain. Tony's lips curl in disgust at the sight but her leg looks the worst. Her calf is deformed and looks painful. Her head is rolled to the left, unconscious as her arms, supported over her head by shackles rest lazily.

Thor is beside her and looks a little worse for wear as well, his blond hair is a mess (does any of their hair look _nice?) _and he's sporting several cuts and bruises along his neck and upper arms. The thing that stands out the most about him to Tony though, is a thick black collar strapped around his neck, curiosity placed under his wild locks. His arms are shackled above his head as well.

He can't see Steve, Clint, or Bruce very well from the awkward angle that he's sitting at but he can see there arms placed above their heads and that Clint and Steve are awake. Steve's head is tilted back against the wall where he's staring up at the ceiling, looking utterly fascinated and Clint's feet are tapping against each other like a bored child. Tony licks his dry lips and scans around the room again looking for an exit. He has little doubt that Natasha or Clint won't be able to slip out of their shackles when given enough drive but Steve or Thor should be able to break there's.

All they really need is an exit and someone to carry Natasha. Was she the _only _person injured? No, that doesn't seem right. Am _I _injured? Tony mentally scans himself. Arms: check, legs: check. Beyond a headache that could knock a man off his feet? He's good. Strange, he really feels like the blast should have done more, he didn't have any armor...or really anything. Tony shifts slightly and gives a low hiss through his teeth.

Yeah, alright, the back is _not_ totally injury free. He was likely grazed with a few bullets. Tony presses his lips together firmly and presses his head back against the wall trying to _push _the headache out.

"Tony?" Steve's voice cuts through the air shattering the silence that's been playing for the last few minutes he's been awake. Tony doesn't open his eyes but leans his head subconsciously towards where he knows Steve is towards the end of their long line.

"Yeah, Cap?" Tony answers and presses his teeth together again. Cats, this headache is going to be the death of him. Maybe he can sleep it off, that would be nice-oh gosh, he just want's it to go away so he can _think _normally again. He would take motrin!

"Are you injured?" Steve asks and Tony shakes his head, though he's aware the team leader can't see it.

"No," Tony answers halfheartedly, daring his voice to be a little louder in hopes of waking his other teammates. Natasha's state is admittedly worrying him slightly and Thor's head wound isn't looking to hot either. "You?"

Steve is quiet for a moment, "I took a few hits," he admits. Ah, it must be bad then, Steve, like the rest of them believes firmly in the game of "how long can I keep it hidden before anyone notices or I pass out?". It's a great game that they're all champions at. So Tony has high doubts that "a few" is the right word.

Sure enough, Clint snorts, "A few?" He repeats, his voice sounds raspy, "You look like a mummy."

"I don't." Steve defends and Tony internally sighs and rolls his eyes regretting his decision immediately but ignores the following pain and leans forward slightly to see if he can get a glimpse of his teammates. From the nearly straight wall, it's hard, but he catches a glimpse of Clint's face through the dark tangles of Thor's hair.

His face is bruised, but he looks relatively okay. Some of the worry that building in his stomach lessens. Bruce lets out a soft groan and Tony turns his head towards the scientist ignoring, to the best of his ability, the ache at the back of his skull. Bruce mumbles a few sentences under his breath in a hushed whisper and Tony leans forward straining the shackles as far as they'll go to see him.

"Bruce?" Steve asks and the scientist gives a low moan in reply.

"Ow." He groans a moment later.

Bruce shakes his head several times and blinks, squinting at their surroundings. "I-uh, take it that we didn't win?"

"Yeah, no, not really." Tony supplies helpfully. They very much so _didn't _win the fight. Hulk had emerged from what Tony can pull from his hazy memories, but he doesn't remember what happened after that.

A loud bang rings from behind the door Tony spotted earlier next to the desks and all of them whip their heads towards it as Natasha gives a low groan and Thor twitches. The door is ripped open and light floods into the room. Tony winces and his hands move to cover his eyes but they don't make it very far as the chain pulls tight with a _clank _and the metal digs into his wrists.

A man strides forward into the room closely followed by at least six others. His expensive suit and evenly cropped hair auras a man of importance. His hands are clasped behind his back as he enters, the door slamming shut behind him, taking the painful light and casting shadows across the room again. Tony lifts his head a little higher and stares the man down clenching his jaw, slightly to the left.

The man gives a wide smile with perfectly white teeth and raises his hands, "Welcome Avengers," he greets, revealing a faint Scottish accent. Ah, so he _is _aware who he's captured then. Not that's it's hard to miss, Tony isn't aware of another team with their oddities on it.

"Ah, buddy, cut down on the tooth-shine, okay? You're blinding me." Tony says tiredly and leans his head back, closing his eyes and feels the icy glare sent his way. He allows himself a small satisfied smirk and wrenches his eyes open in surprise and pain as a hand smacks against his face and he tumbles to the right accidently smacking his ribs against Natasha's elbow. His head whips to the side and he blinks several times before turning to look at the rich-leader-man-boss-honco-dude. He didn't even _hear _him move across the ground.

Okay, then.

Natasha's eyes rip open as her elbow impales his ribs and her fiery grey eyes look up at the man and Tony can see her grasping a hold of the situation despite the tightness around her eyes from pain.

"Please hold your tongue or we'll have to remove it." The man says and gives Tony another picture-worthy smile before leaning down next to Natasha. She tosses her dirty hair from her face and the man raises an eyebrow. "You're a lot shorter in person."

The man rises and walks the length of his captives before coming at a halt in the middle again, tilting his head slightly. "You should thank me, you're about to become apart of something _beautiful." _He says the words with ease but adds a slight pressure at the last one. Tony narrows his eyes but bites his tongue.

"Like what?" Clint demands and the man's lip quirk upwards slightly.

"I'm glad you asked. I am Dayt Hoven, and if you value your lives or the lives of your comrades you'll do exactly as I say." Dayt says and Tony raises an eyebrow. On intimidation levels, he _has _seen better, but it's not bad.

"What do you plan on doing to us?" Steve asks. His tone is in his Captain America mode, where he's firm and not answering usually results in the eyebrows of disappointment.

"My dear Captain," Dayt says softly, "I intend to _keep _you. You'll make my company move faster, more efficiently, and, well, who will deny me when _I _hold the Avengers? The world will be at my mercy, and you, you will sit here and watch as I burn it."

"Yeah-no." Clint says and gives a small laugh, "You really think you can keep us here?"

"Of course. Any disobedience will be punished; I have a mission for each of you and if you poke a finger where it isn't wanted, I'll cut it off. But first, I can't have you bleeding out on my floor, Harold," Dayt says and a man lifts his head, "get the battery." He commands and Tony watches idly as Harold steps into the heavier shadowed part of the room and kicks something. A soft hiss echoes through the air and Thor twitches again.

"Get up," Harold says. His voice is heavy and deep. When whatever the battery is doesn't respond, Harold leans forward and grabs it.

"He will be your caretaker and teach you obedience. I'll be back tomorrow to take you to your purposes. It's just fate that brought us together, such perfect timing-I can't really be blamed, can I? The fates _wanted _us together." Dayt says and gives a soft sigh of contentment before Harold tosses the battery forward and Tony feels all color drains from his face as it-_he _lands in a crumpled heap near he and Natasha's feet. Dayt turns on his heel and walks from the room his men following behind them the door clicking shut with a slam and a lock grinding into place. The pounding ache decides, at this _timely _moment to over power everything and Tony's breath hitches painfully before he's dragged into the world of unconsciousness, unwilling.

000o000

The next time Tony awakens, he's headache is gone, there's a weird buzzing noise ringing through the air and something wet touching his face. He flinches as the...thing touches his face again and he rips his gaze away from the badly lighten room pulling it forward. His jaw drops slightly, pain exploding through his nerves as he shoves back as much as possible from the cloth and the person in front of him.

_No flipping way._

_He's supposed to on Asgard, receiving punishment._

Why is he here?

He hired the men to attack him, didn't he?

Loki's look of slight concern drops with his frustration and he grabs Tony's chin, "Remain still." He commands quietly. His voice sounds different than Tony remembers, far less confident, more...silent, broken. The long black hair is falling over his shoulders in loose curls the exhaustion, even in the dark lighting shows across Loki's face easily. The bags under his eyes look like real bruises and he looks ridiculously thin.

The only reason Tony doesn't struggle further or fight is because, A: everything hurts, B: Loki's hand is seriously _cold._


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note: Ah...so snippet of a story that never went anywhere. **

**Characters: Natasha and Steve**

**Warnings: None**

**Written: 2018 some time. :) **

**Note: Not checked for spelling or grammar! **

* * *

"I feel stupid." Steve says, his tone is slightly irritable yet has a pathetic hopeless edge that makes him want to grind his jaw together in frustration. He stares at the full length mirror in front of him with strong distaste and presses his lips together to withhold further comments. He knows they're coming eventually and he can already think of quite a few but as of right now he just wants to bury his head in a paper bag for a few days.

Natasha steps in front of him from her previous position behind him brushing down the wild flying hairs of his black wig and straightens the red tie he's wearing. "You look fine." She assures a moment later and brushes the long bangs in front of his face. He's never been good at acting-spying, whatever Tasha and Clint have decided to call it this time but the mission is critical and Natasha isn't a guy, Thor can't act to save his life, Bruce is to short and Clint didn't have the right build. Tony's going as well _Tony _and despite how much Steve is protesting he knows how important this dinner party is.

What remains of S.H.I.E.L.D. contacted them with evidence they'd found on a weapons dealer selling with the guise dinner party. Apparently something to do with Chitauri tech mixed with S.I.'s older stuff. Tony had told the agents they'd deal with it before shoving his way onto the guest list. "_I'm the distraction," _He'd said, "_they all look my way as Jeorge Killo buys weapons from the boss." _

And of course, Steve gets to be Jeorge. Excellent. All he can think of is a few months ago when he and Natasha were on the run and he was miserable at it. He's not meant to be a spy. Period. At all, none, nope, zip, nada. They apprehended the man last night, well, Natasha and Thor did (Steve's not sure how and doesn't want details right now).

"Clint's better at this stuff." Steve protests weakly.

"And your shadow." Natasha points out. In the vents, they'd all agreed on it. Natasha is going as Jeorge's wife, Lacy, and Bruce and Thor are going to just be guests. More distractions. Not everyone there is buying the weapons a mere handful but preventing the civilians from going would be an obvious "hey, we found out about your super secret law breaking habits" and the weapons dealer would cut it. Ian Link if there sources were right.

Natasha turns so she's facing the mirror and shoves a bobby-pin back into her hairstyle. She's been growing it out recently and has it pulled up into a curled bun that is somehow elegant yet dangerous. Her dress is a long deep red that gathers at her feet and the sleeves are long and it extends up to a collar. Natasha has plenty of weapons on her person but Steve feels oddly naked without his shield. He has a gun, but no intentions of using it.

Natasha runs a finger under her eye for a moment before turning back to him. "We're good. Are you ready?"


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note: Deleted scene from my one-shot "Discolored" originally, it was from both Hela and Loki's POV, and this was a small fraction of what _was _Loki's POV. **

**Characters: Loki**

**Warnings: None**

**Written: 2018 some time. :) **

**Note: Not checked for spelling or grammar! **

* * *

There was only stillness. The endless, infrangible _stillness._ Always present, unrelenting, it wouldn't let him _go. _There was no darkness, but the light swallowed him all the same. There was nothing he could do to stop it-he tried, oh he _tried, _but nothing would stop it from coming back, from it's needy fingers clawing around his throat and dragging him under again.

Nothing stopped it, the stillness from swallowing him. He wanted _out _but was trapped, (_sinking, helpless, GET ME OUT!) _only broken by his ragged gasps and attempts for breath that are long since stale in his chest.

At one point, he remembers trying to break it. Doing anything to break the fragile stillness before it swallowed him, again, again and _again. _His voice gave out eventually, his rage broke, the hopeless swallowed him and he collapsed, among the broken glass and furniture. (Sleep is easier, sleep does not _hurt _so much. It does not ache.) Now he does not fight it. He hasn't for a long time.

His eyes are raw and ache at every available moment from the light, the _never ending light _but the pulse no longer feels as strong, not as painful.

_What, what, what, what-? _

Where did the pulse go?

Has his vision finally started to go out? He does not hope for that, but life has a cruel sense of irony and he would not be surprised.

He attempts to pull his eyelids apart to _see _to understand _why, _but they refuse to seperate. Panic grasps at him, wrapping around his throat and squeezing, he cannot lose his sight.

Perhaps this is a new punishment.

No, he won't let it be, _it can't be. _

He lifts his arm, the limb is exhausted and drags it towards his face. He grabs the eyelid and rips it open, the other follows, as if embarrassed _not _to and he winces at the light, but it is not as intense. It does not _burn. _

The color is wrong.

There is only _white, _and _red, _and wood. This is...not that. Blue, a voice supplies in his head. Yes, blue, why is it blue? Does it matter? He's not _there. _His lips pressed together and he drops his hand across his chest and squeezes his eyes shut. He is not _there. _Safe. Fine. Alive. He can feel exhaustion grabbing at him again.

No!

He doesn't want to sleep!

He wants to understand why-

Exhaustion is biting.

His breath heaves and uncoinsouls claims at him once more.


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note: For some time I was pretty obsessed with Pietro fix-it fics (frankly I still am), but I couldn't really get this go anyway. Haha. Do what you will.**

**Characters: Wanda, Pietro, Tony, Clint, Steve, Thor, Steve, Natasha.**

**Warnings: Some gore, some violence**

**Written: 2017 some time. :) **

**Note: Not checked for spelling or grammar! **

* * *

A Whisper Told Me "Live":

Pietro gasps, his lungs choking for air that isn't _coming _no matter how hard he tries. Everything is blurry and spinning like some sort of horrible underwater rollercoaster (not that he's ever been on one) but he imagines it would be like this. His chest is tight, almost like when his father would wrap him a bear hug when he was younger and squeeze him until he was choking with laughter but this is much, much worse. His limbs are shaky, his ears ringing and the pain digging into his skin only causing his senses to go haywire _more._

Breathe, breathe, breathe.

_It's not coming._

He's going to die.

He _is_ dying.

This was not how today was supposed to go. They were just supposed to-oh, cats, _they. _

_Wanda!_

He can feel her suddenly, now that he's focusing, her pain echoing through him worse than any of the blasts. She's screaming, she's in pain and _he can do nothing. _He has to get to her, he has to protect his little sister.

His eyes slowly rotate upwards to Clint's face. The man's eyes are wide with shock and the kid he's holding is clutched close to his chest in what almost painful. He'll take care of Wanda, he has to because he can't do it anymore. _I'm sorry! _

His eyes search over Clint's face for a moment every millisecond feeling like hours. This is the last time he'll see him. Clint. When he's alive. He memorizes it and his eyes raise slightly the speed slowed with his racing heart as he sees a glint of metal sparkle against the light before it smashes against his forehead.

His head explodes with pain, light and dark somehow merging through his sight as his limbs give into the agony. Pietro collapses forward falling against the dirt his eyes still open staring blankly forward. His chest is still heaving for breath though he knows that none is coming. His head pulses with every heartbeat but he can't get his limbs to work.

He's dying.

This time it's real.

Oh, man, what was the last thing he said to Wanda? He can't remember. Everything is slipping away from him like sand through his fingertips. Pietro struggles to keep any remaining grains in his hands. _Breathe, breathe, breathe._

Wanda is still screaming.

"-d!"

A hand presses against his shoulder and Pietro convulses, gasping again for the breath that isn't entering. He's starting to panic, he _need's to breathe. _But he _can't. _What do you do if you can't breathe? Cry? Scream? Plant a garden?

The pain isn't ending.

"-ro!"

The voices sound like they're being played through a record player followed by a explosion. Fuzzy.

Feeling in his limbs is gone but he's suddenly on his back. He doesn't remember rolling over. Why'd he move? Should he move? He's tired, he's exhausted and he want's to _sleep. _That will help his head, right? The cure for headaches is always sleep.

A man's face appears in his vision, bleary, yet somehow still panicked. He knows this man. He can't remember from where or why though only that he _does. _Is that bad? Should he know him? Why can't he _remember?_

Another man's face appears into his vision and he looks like he's going to start hyperventilating. Pietro wants to tug at his hair and just keep _pulling. _He doesn't understand anything. He wants it to stop, can someone make it stop. _Please! _He'll do anything, _anything. _He wants it to go away.

"-ol...n!" A voice tells him.

Ol n? What is he supposed to do with that? He doesn't want to think, he just want's to _sleep. _Can they stop talking so he can rest? He needs _sleep _and they aren't letting him do it. Can he cry? He wants to cry in frustration.

His breaths are getting shorter and his brain is getting foggier. How does he get rid of it? It's preventing him from sleep. Maybe he can ask it? No, that doesn't seem right.

Hand's are under his shoulder's suddenly and his knees and he's ripped away from the ground. Wait, stop! He doesn't want to move! He can't! It hurts to much, Pietro opens his mouth to try and explain this to the person but all that comes out is a strangled scream.

"I...k...w...ts...rry." The person says again. The other man is watching from close by, Pietro spots him from the side of his vision. The person next to him is _warm, _and Pietro suddenly realizes how cold he is. Has he ever been warm? He can't remember anything but pain and the rapidly growing cold. It's like his memories are blocked from him, preventing anything from helping him.

Fear wraps around him.

He doesn't want to die, but he doesn't want to be like this forever.

Something needs him, though, and he can't remember what it is. Hopefully it'll be okay without him.

He's moving at a faster pace, now, and it's making him uncomfortable. He's rocking to much. The arms around him are tight and oddly comforting, he doesn't know who it is though so maybe he should be afraid. He's _dying _though.

Why can't he fall asleep? Why is he still awake. It can't be possible to be in this much pain and still be alive or awake. He needs _rest, _and he needs it _now. _

He lets out a small whimper as he rocks rather aggressively suddenly and he wishes he would _stop. _Everything hurts to much to be moving like this. It's tingling, and it's cold. Everything is so, so cold, except the arms, and the person. He leans in subconsciously towards the warmth, a shiver wracking through the numbing pain.

It's going away!

But that can't be good. Why though? He can't remember or decide. He just wants it _over._

The hands release him and suddenly he's lying on a hard surface. He lets out a small whine of protest as the warmth goes away. Now everything is cold. There isn't any warmth at the end of the tunnel. Just black, dark, and a faint scream ringing through his head.

New pain rocks through him and he smacks the person's hand away. Don't touch! Why are they trying to poke him? Are they trying to make his hurt worse? Is that possible? Can it just _end. _He wants it over but everyone keeps making it worse. Just _be quiet!_

._..please_.

The voice is speaking to him again, the tone soft. He focuses on that because it sounds warm. And he's so, so _cold. _Pain rocks through him again and he cries out, it burns, it stings, it _doesn't stop. _He smacks it away again. He wants it _gone, so stop touching._

A hand runs through his hair, suddenly, and he would have jumped but his limbs aren't responding to anything he tells them to do. It's just all so _heavy. _A different voice speaks, he recognizes it, comfort races through him though he can't remember _why, _but because this voice is here, everything will be alright. The hand is gentle as it strokes through his hair and he focuses on it, barely registering when a different person gabs at him again.

It hurts but it's not as important as the person's hand and their voice, talking in what's an attempted soothe but he can still hear the tears. A sudden desire to comfort runs through him, though he doesn't understand and he attempts to lift his hand up to run it through _their _hair because the feeling is so peaceful but his limbs remain at his side. It's to heavy. He can't offer the comfort.

The thought saddens him.

The hand is comforting and he slowly closes his eyes all the way. The sudden darkness makes him panic, though and he wants to rip his eyes open again so he can see the light but they _aren't opening. _Why? Are they broken. Can eyelids break? His are.

The stroking isn't stopping but neither is the prodding. Will they _stop touching it! _It hurts! They aren't making it any better. Stop, stop, stop!

'_Pietro.' _

Who's that?

_What _was that?

Oh no, he's going insane because there is _someone inside his brain! _

'_Pietro.'_

He _knows _they're there! They don't have to say the name. The name? Isn't it _his _name? Pietro. Yeah, that sounds right. Pietro. The voice is familiar. He knows it, right? No. Yes? He's too tired to figure this out now, he'll sleep now _then _come back to it. Yeah…

'_Pietro, please stop struggling. You need to remain still so they can heal you.'_

Heal?

Is he wounded?

He's moving?

He can't feel his limbs, maybe he is. That would explain his aching lungs, his chest, his _everything. _Nothing is working right, anymore. His body isn't responsive. Oh no, that's bad, this is really bad. His choked breathing picks up pace and he can suddenly feel _everything _again.

Every gasp is liquid fire running through his veins. His shoulders are aching, his chest is burning. But his head is the worst. If the headache wasn't pulsing between his eyelids, he might be okay but it feels like his brain is trying to explode. Why can't he just fall unconscious! Is there no mercy!?

'_Pietro, calm down. You'll be alright.'_

No, he won't!

He's dying.

Oh, man, _he is dying. _

Pietro rips his eyes open again his heavy lids finally releasing their lock. His vision is blurred beyond recognition but he can see the sky above him. The clouds are swirling, the blue bright and boring into his brain. His chest is heaving, his lungs burning but Pietro can see Clint leaning over him.

He jerks his hand up and wraps his burning muscle around the archer's shirt. Clint's attention is on him and he's speaking but Pietro doesn't understand what he's saying. The hand running through his hair stopped, but Pietro doesn't care. His focus is on one thing and one thing only.

Wanda.

Someone has to make sure Wanda is okay after this, someone has to watch out for her.

Clint is still talking rapidly but Pietro is trying to grasp enough energy in his throat to work past the scream to get words out. _Someone has to watch his little sister. _The words don't make any sense but he doesn't release his grip on Clint.

"W-wan…" he coughs and tears slip from his eyes at the pain. His chest is on fire. He's dying, he can feel everything shutting down. His heart is beating sluggishly in his ribcage. "Y-you...wath...her…" His voice is slurring. Clint has to understand. He will.

Someone is sobbing on his left, but Pietro can't pull his gaze away from Clint on his right. He has to make sure that the man agrees to watch his sister. Clint is still talking but his ears aren't working and Clint gives a nod. Good. Wanda will be safe under his watch-and he will. Wanda is his little sister, even if by twelve minutes.

Pietro can rest now, she'll be safe.

She needs to be safe.

Fear wraps around him, suddenly. Will dying hurt? He's already dying, and it hurts to the question is answered. He's so, _so, _tired and cold. A shiver wracks through is broken body and exhaustion takes over. Blackness is clinging to the edge of his consciousness.

His hand slips from Clint's shirt and hits the ground by his side, the feeling is funny but he doesn't care anymore.

Wanda is safe.

Clint is safe.

Ultron will be stopped.

His heart beats sluggishly in his ears.

Pietro closes his eyes-

_Thump….thump…._

-and lets the darkness claim him.

000o000

At the boom of artillery, Clint's whole body tenses and he turns himself to shield the child in his arms. In a way, it reminds him horribly of Cooper when he was frightened by a bad dream yet it's not his actual son. He still needs to protect the kid though, because that's his job. Just as he told Wanda a little less than two hours ago. His whole upper body is rigid and the kid pressed tightly against his chest. He waits.

He won't get that sunroom done, after all. Or the dining room-turned office. Hopefully Laura can convince Steve to help with the project. That part of the house is a mess.

Clint waits.

And waits.

A sharp _shing _whips through the air and Clint jerks his head upwards as a patriotic shield rushes through the air about a dozen or so feet away. A rush of blue-light streams come to a halt and a body rocks as it takes the impact of the attack.

The rays don't hit the shield nor Clint or the shaking boy.

The rays hit Pietro.

Oh, gosh, _no! _

Pietro's wide grey eyes meet his and Clint's arms loosen around the child his haunted expression locked onto the seventeen year old in front of him. Seventeen. He's seventeen and...oh no, no, no. This can't be real. When is he going to wake up? How many pinches till he can reverse the time table? _This can't be real._

Pietro's body shakes as it gasps for breath that isn't coming and Clint has less than a second to mentally memorize the agonized expression before Steve's terribly timed shield smacks against Pietro's head.

Pietro collapses promptly the shield clattering a few feet away from the Maximoff twin. Clint stills for a moment his eyes locked onto the shield. Pietro...

"Great aim," Clint let's out in an angered whisper. He tightens his grip on the child before rising to his suddenly jell-o like feet and runs to the horribly too still body. No. Please don't be dead.

"Kid!" Clint shouts his voice rising in his panic. Falling to his knee, holding the rescued child in his left arm, and grasps the teen's shoulder jerking his hand back almost as quickly. Pietro's body convulses forward and he gasps for breath.

"Pietro!"

Pietro doesn't answer, his eyes remaining open blankly and despite Clint's near death grip on his arm, the older Maximoff twin doesn't twitch a finger. With a quick glance, Clint's stomach clenches, the wounds are terrible. He's not going to make it.

"Hold on!" Clint begs to Pietro's unresponsive body. The older twin's eyes are open though, starting forward blankly.

Footsteps pound across the ground akin to someone being chased by a wild herd of rhinos and Clint jerks his head upwards as Steve comes to a skidding halt from his sprint. The older man's eyebrows shoot upward so high Clint fears for a moment they'll launch of his face.

"He took the bullets," Steve breathes.

_Ultron touched him. _

"Obviously." Clint hisses through his tightly clenched teeth. Steve looks at his shield lying a few feet away and Clint looks away from his leader's face. They might be able to get Pietro to help but if he has brain damage because the captain can't aim right then Clint is going after him with solely a curling iron and a stool leg.

Clint shoves the kid in his arms into Steve's two, then carefully rolls Pietro over. The teen's limbs move limply, like spaghetti noodles unsure what to do with themselves. Wanda. Where is Wanda? Is she still at the core? He needs to find Pietro's sister.

Pietro's quiet form looks up at him, emotionless and Clint slides his arms underneath Pietro's knees and his shoulders trying his best to avoid the injuries. A tangled scream slips out of the teen's throat and Clint pauses the tight clenching in his chest growing worse.

"I know it hurts, I'm sorry." He assures before pulling Pietro towards him. Pietro curls in towards him, even if subconsciously before going still, again.

It's not a body. Clint repeats the mantra over and over in his head.

_It's not a body. _

"Get him to ship." Steve commands, re-positioning the child in his care that's beginning to whine. Clint clenches the Maximoff to his chest like precious cargo, his stupor lasting only a moment longer before the Barton takes off in a sprint towards the last remaining ship.

000o000

Clint isn't sure if he should be angry, upset, or on a murder vengeance rage.

Right now, he's angry.

Pietro didn't have to be so stupid. Why did he do it? _Why? _Clint needs to know and judging from how the teen's vitals held out on their flight from the remains of Sokovia to Avengers Tower, he isn't going to get the chance to ask him.

His feet are burning a pattern into the ground outside the surgery room but he couldn't care less. Tony can buy new floor, but not a person. Pietro's been in surgery for over four hours now and he isn't the only one who's..angsty.

Steve is pacing too, along the other length of the wall, Tony is sitting on one of the chairs phone in hand as he taps away at something (Cint is sixty two percent sure he's texting Pepper), Thor is sitting in a chair next to Tony looking bone-tired and worn out. The Asgardian's leg suffered from the fall. Nothing serious but his standards but a dislocated and sprained ankle is still a injury.

Tony's chest is a mess of bruises and his back isn't much better. The nurse had to wrap him in the chair when the Stark refused to move from the spot threatening the nurse with a taser. Wanda is standing near the far corner her eyes moist and hands folded over her chest tightly. Natasha is standing next to her, face blank and stance calm but Clint knows her well enough to know that the woman is a raging storm buried beneath a calm sea.

Bruce, with some persuasion came back to help with the surgery and is currently in the room with Pietro that none of the surgeons have left over the last few hours. Clint's frustration is building.

Why do they still have no answers? Pietro didn't die and their trying to figure out a way to tell them and hide the body, right? No, Bruce wouldn't let them do that...right?

Clint begins to trek the ground faster, almost as if he's been tasked with sanding the ground with solely his boots. He can feel Tony's gaze resting on him watching him idly move from one end of the room to the other.

Beyond a few words of comfort to Wanda at the beginning of the long wait, no one has said anything. Admittedly, Clint is impressed that Tony has managed to keep his trap shut for so long. He's never known Tony to be a serious and silent person unless the situation is dire. Wanda's agitation is growing though, Clint can sense it from here.

He isn't sure what to do to help her feel better. Helping his team, Laura and the kids is second nature but this is like trying to learn a new language in less than an hour. He doesn't like it.

Natasha rests her hand on Wanda's shoulder and the Maximoff girl twitches slightly but forces herself to still. Clint makes note, confused, but turns anyway to resume his floor sanding.

Thor rests his hammer on the ground the metal making a soft _thump _as it lands. Thor pulls a stringy piece of sweaty hair away from his face taking a look at all of them for a moment. Clint sweeps his gaze away from the thunderer as Thor stares at him before Thor breaks the long unannounced agreement of silence. "Be at peace; many warriors have survived worse."

Clint comes to a halt his frustration exploding to dangerous levels. Thor is almost _immortal. _Of _course _he knows warriors who have survived worse. They heal with _magic_ on Asgard.

"Yeah, like who, Goldilocks?" Tony retorts looking up from the phone irritation written across his face like a well paced novel. Clint's pretty sure his isn't much different.

"He's not a warrior. He's a kid." He says in frustration finally pausing his sanding as the two sentences jumble into one. The sounds blends funnily but Wanda's eyes blink rapidly, anyway.

Clint sighs and looks down at his clenched fists.

This isn't supposed to happen to them. The Maximoff's are good people, a little misguided, yeah, but they don't deserve this. Wanda's trying to hard not to fall apart and he doesn't know how to help her.

"Well, um, there is…" Thor's voice trails off in thought. And, as always, his amazing comforting skills shine through brightly. Tony snorts sarcastically.

"Yep, I feel _much_ better now."

"He will be _fine_," Natasha presses as if she can command the universe with her voice. She eyes each of them carefully as if daring them to disagree. None of them do and Natasha gives a quick squeeze at Wanda's shoulder. Wanda's head raises and she shoves away from the older woman, making towards the room where the medics and Pietro are. She stands outside the door for a long moment as Clint did himself a little less than twenty minutes ago.

Wanda is completely still her eyes locked onto the door.

"I need to be in there with him." She murmurs softly. She raises a hand up and presses it against the glass of the door.

"You can't." Steve says softly. "We all want to be."

Yes. They do.

He knows he does. He's to the point of finding his remaining explosive arrows and blowing up the door then demanding they let him stay or he'll soak them all in used mop water.

"My brother is the only thing I have left." Wanda admits quietly, almost more to herself than the other Avengers. Her fingers press harder against the glass and Clint stops his pacing to stare at her. Her long brown hair is falling down her back in a messy tangle of knots that makes it seem like it's cut at an angle.

At her words, Clint sees Tony's face fall considerably from the corner of his eye before the Stark looks suddenly _far _more interested in his phone than he did before. Clint purses his lips. He isn't sure what the full story is of what happened to the twins but he knows it has something to do with Tony. He knows that the building collapsed but why is still a mystery. Tony works very hard to make himself seem cold and indifferent but he cares too much.

And if Pietro does, Wanda will have nothing, Tony knows this as much as he does.

Not her brother.

Her parents.

Her country.

Or her freedom. She's an enhanced now.

Clint stops, again, his fists clenched, and slams them into the wall; the sound makes a heavy _thud _and Clint's fingers rest there for a moment. Pietro is in there because of him. If he hadn't ran off to get the kid or been _faster _then everything would have been fine. They would have left with _both _twins on their feet instead one on and one with a stopping heart. "It should have been me."

Tony looks up from his phone again and meets Clint's eye with a slightly cold expression-or in the least degree, a heavily frustrated one. "You know, well we're playing the blame-game here, if I hadn't created Ultron, none of us would be in this mess." Tony says and resumes looking at his Stark-phone.

Wanda's eyes fall.

"I agree, let us blame Iron-locks," Thor says with a lighthearted tone. Tony scoffs which is all the proof Clint needs to know that Thor was trying to lighten the heavy mood and Tony's going to help him. Clint doesn't really want them to. It feels wrong to laugh when Pietro is dying.

Tony shoots Thor a pathetic death glare, "_My _hair looks _much _better than yours, Sir I-need-conditioner-and-shampoo-badly."

"You're both pretty, now be quiet," Natasha interrupts the argument before it can progress further and leans against her wall further folding her arms across her chest. Wanda's hand doesn't move from the glass on the door almost as if she can touch her brother and make everything okay again if she simply presses against the glass.

"Why? Us being silent doesn't make this any better." Tony argues.

Clint's legs suddenly can't hold his weight anymore and he slides against the wall collapsing to the ground and presses his back against the cold wall behind him. His fists are still clenched tightly and his head hangs slightly.

If he'd just dived out of the way or made Pietro stay with his sister then he wouldn't be dying. They lost him, _twice _on the journey from Sokovia to New York. Tony was insistent that they get him to Avenger's Tower where he has the most advanced medical equipment. His heart had stopped when he saw Pietro tumble, but watching Wanda fall to her knees in the agony of losing her brother before murmuring soft words to him and attempting to calm him by running her shaking hand through his hair was terrible.

The flight hadn't been much better. She'd sat next to Pietro gripping his hand tightly as the medics worked with what they had there looking pale and like she was going to throw up. He'd called Laura after about two hours in and they'd talked for almost an hour as she tried to assure him that it wasn't his fault and asked if he wanted her to come down from the farm. He wanted her too, admittedly, she's better at dealing with this sort of stuff than he is but he said no.

Wanda slides down next to him suddenly and Clint tenses lifting his face up to stare at the pale teen as she gives a tight smile that immediately crumples as she meets his gaze. One wet tear slides down her cheeks followed by another and Clint forces his muscles to relax and hesitates for a moment before awkwardly wrapping his arm around the younger Maximoff.

Wanda stills before leaning into the embrace and starts to cry, burying her face into Clint's shoulder to mask the ugly sobs. Clint just holds her tighter and runs his hand through the tangled weave of knots. Clint looks up as after a few seconds Tony stands up his face resembling someone who was sitting on something incredibly sharp then told to not react. His eyes linger on the sobbing girl for a moment before he points down the hall in answer to his teammates questioning stares.

"I, uh, suit-lab-hair. I'm going to find the kitchen."

Steve raises an eyebrow coming to a small pause as he folds his arms across his chest and stares at the billionaire for a moment. "This is your tower."

Tony shrugs as he walks away shoving his hand into his pockets, posture tense, "Yeah, well sometimes I forget...where...stuff is."

Yeah. Sure.

Thor also looks uncomfortable suddenly and grabs his hammer pulling himself to his feet before and adding, "Some substance might do us good," he then starts to follow the billionaire dubbed Iron-locks.

Somewhere close to an hour passes in silence, the only thing feeling the air being Wanda's gasping breaths that have quieted considerably over the last ten. She's shifted slightly from her original position, turning her body so she's facing straight. Her eyes are red and puffy and she doesn't look any better than she did before she started.

The knot in Clint's stomach is clenching tighter.

Steve is quiet his face twisted in thought before he drums his fingers across his folded arm. He glances at Clint several times before exhaling,"Wanda, maybe you need a second out of the tower." Steve suggests.

Ha, ha-no.

He's already almost lost one twin, he's not losing another one. He trusts Steve, he really does he's just paranoid right now. All he really wants to do is make Pietro heal quickly then wrap both of them in bubble wrap before carrying them to his farm to keep safe. Laura knows how to use a gun and he's trained her a little when she asked so they'll be fine when he has to go out on missions.

When did he get so attached?

He's not.

It's guilt.

Wanda tenses beside him and she raises her large grey eyes to Steve's face looking ready to argue from now to the next century or so. Clint will help her.

"Pietro might-" she pauses taking a forced breath.

_Die._

Clint finishes her sentence in his head.

Pietro might die and she won't be there for it.

"I need to be here when the surgery ends." She says firmly.

Natasha sighs and stands up from the chair she moved to around half an hour ago. Clint looks up at her. She hasn't been very talkative since..._it _happened. She's not typically a talk your ear off person like Tony unless she's comfortable. Natasha leans down in front of Wanda's ghost-like form her short red hair falling in front of her face."Listen, Kid, you aren't doing yourself or your brother any good here. You can either willing go on a walk with Steve or I'll personally drag you to the kitchen. Your choice."

Clint resists the urge to protest and bites his tongue. The surgery was scheduled to last about twelve hours and their only a little less than halfway through. It's been a long two days though.

Wanda blinks before nodding several times before shakily getting to her feet, Clint pulls his hand back to rest on his lap and watches her rise to her feet. She looks ready to promptly collapse and Clint's brain scrambles for the last time he remembers they ate. Not once during the flight or since they got here. When Wanda gets back, he'll drag her to the kitchen along with everyone else. Actually, he'll drag Natasha there now.  
"Fresh air would be nice." Wanda says softly. Her voice has been so quiet, almost like she's afraid that if she speaks to loudly she'll break something.

"Clint or I will get you whenever the doctors come out," Natasha says and holds up her cell. "I have Steve's number."

Clint whips head head towards the leader in surprise. Steve has a phone? Since when? He isn't big on them. He only agreed to the earpieces so he could communicate with them. Tony must've given it to him. It's the only way Clint can see Steve actually _getting _one.

Wanda moves forward stiffly towards the Avenger and Steve sends Clint a look of reassurance (huh, guess his expression wasn't as blank as he attempted it to be) before guiding Wanda out of the room and down the hall with an abnormal amount of windows. When Clint asked about it, Tony merely shrugged with a knowing look and said, "Windows don't hurt as much." It took him nearly a minute to decipher what the billionaire meant. _To get thrown through. _Clint's not sure if he agrees or not. Natasha sits down next him and stretches her legs out across the ground looking like the definition of exhausted. It's been a few days since any of them got more than a few minutes of sleep.

Natasha rolls her head across the wall towards him, "You should get some sleep, I can wait."

Clint shakes his head, "I'm fine."

She raises a single eyebrow an expression that Clint has know as shut up and listen else you get a gun against your head. "It's not your fault; you couldn't have known."

Clint sighs, "I should have."

000o000

Steve is pretty sure that Wanda hasn't left Sokovia in her life. When they finally make it out of the tower, Wanda's head swivels upwards trying to take in all the sights at once. She doesn't spin, just stands in wonder for a moment her face finally resembling the seventeen year old she is. Sokovia wasn't the richest planet on the planet before it blew up and Steve can't help but give a small sympathetic smile. She reminds him of himself after he woke up from his coma and escaped the S.H.I.E.L.D base. It wasn't an easy adjustment.

Steve moves forward through the city with the younger girl trailing after him looking heavily like a lost kitten. They both probably look like they got run over by multiple buses then decided to go cut roses but fell in them.

No words are spoken between them, they just walk.

Steve shrugs on the jacket he's wearing over his suit more as the chill air starts to seep into his skin. Wanda doesn't look like she minds but after a little longer Steve gradually becomes aware that she's staring at him and isn't stopping.

Steve turns his head to meet her gaze and gives her a skeptical look, "What?"

Wanda flushes and looks away, wringing her hands in embarrassment. She pauses for a moment before looking up at him again, "Sorry, it's just...you don't look ninety."

"You don't look seventeen yourself," he answers with half a smile. He's not sure if that's a good thing, Pietro and Wanda act like their in their twenties, not barely the end of their teenagehood.

Wanda gives a tight one in return, "Pietro would have liked the city." Her voice is slightly wistful and Steve's stomach clenches at her word choice, "would" not "will".

"Don't give up on him, don't." Steve says firmly. He's not giving up on Bucky so she's not giving up on her brother. Despite how much the odds seem against their respective siblings surviving or being found. Bucky is his brother and even if he's missing, Steve is going to find him. Wanda's eyes sweep downwards in frustration and her eyes grow moist again.

"_I'm not._" Wanda insists, but still doesn't meet his gaze. "I just...I can feel him slipping and I'm terrified. What do I do if he falls?" Her eyebrows meet in her distress and she looks up at him eyes wide. Seventeen. Steve just can't wrap his head around that. Yeah, he lied on his enlistment papers and Peggy lied on hers but that was different.

"If he can feel you in the same way, then you can't think that way, don't give up hope, you hang onto him even if he lets go."

Wanda bites her lip heavily. "I will try."

Steve opens his mouth to respond but the comment is halted as a fist smashes against the back of his head. Steve jerks forward, less so much pain more surprise as Wanda whirls with a sharp yelp jumping backwards. Steve whips his head upwards looking at their surroundings and inwardly kicking himself. He'd been so lost in his thoughts he hadn't noticed that they were out for so long or wandering into the more empty parts of the city.

Hopefully it's just a mugger, he can handle a mugger. Wanda's eyes are wide and her fingers tinged red and a protective surge rushes through him.

Steve spins and grabs the fist out of the air that was swinging towards his head again, his fingers wrapping around the knuckle. His eyes meet his attackers, a man dressed in full black with a red symbol sewn into the left shoulder.

"Ouch." He says, more out of annoyance than real pain. The blow should have knocked out any regular person and likely would have killed a normal ninety year old man. Men emerge from the streets and shadows dressed in full black with the red symbol stitched to their clothing, surrounding them.

Well, great.

He left his shield at the tower.

The man glares sharply at him before bringing his feet into a jump and kicking Steve in the stomach. Pain shoots across his abdomen and he grits his teeth as he launches backwards doubling over. What did they make their flipping boots out of? Metal!?

His hand wraps around the abused area as the men draw guns.

_Even better. _

A few of the men towards the front fire their weapons and Steve shouts a warning before grabbing Wanda and dragging her down to the ground with him. The bullets hit the building behind them, digging into the cement. What is going on!? Ultron was destroyed, Vision is currently sweeping the earth for any remains of him. _Who are they?_

Steve lets out a grunt as his chest hits the ground and he lifts his head up before a boot meets his face again. Seriously, what is it with his head!? Steve hisses in pain before rolling to his feet and lifts his hands up into fists his eyes raising to meet those of his attackers.

The man who kicked his face's eyes narrow and Steve glances at Wanda whose getting to her feet, her hands glowing with the red hue.

The second of distraction is all the man needs, with several practiced moves, the attacker has Steve's face pressed against the cement. Something presses against his shoulder, almost like the tip of a dagger and pain explodes through the area, his vision blurs everything spinning. That can't be good.

The pain is pulsing with every beat of his heart and he can't focus on anything else. His muscles are lax and everything else is swimming. Echoing, yet he can't hear it.

Wanda calls his name but he can't respond.

Wanda.

Come on, Steve.

_Get. Up._

Someone kicks his chest again and Steve curls inwards subconsciously. Wanda shouts something else and someone screams near by. What is she doing? Red flies through what he can make out of his hazy vision and blurs are moving everywhere. Steve struggles to work with limbs frustration pulsing through him.

He's a super soldier. _He's not supposed to go down this easy. _

With some effort he manages to get to his hands and knees and his heart skips a beat as Wanda lets out a blood curling scream of pain. Steve whips his head up to see someone with draw a dagger of some sort from her back, crackling with electricity. Wanda's body goes lax and she falls forward only to be grabbed by their hunters.

_Oh. _

_That's_ what hit him. It must be some sort of temporary paralysis knife.

_Steve._

He has to get up, he has to get to Wanda, he has to-move, move, _move. _

His vision is still spinning but it is pulling back. "Wanda!" He shouts and she doesn't answer. His panic builds, "_Wanda!" _

One of the men looks back at him and tosses something at him and Steve's eyes widen as the ball rolls towards him but his muscles still aren't moving as he wants them to. Hyrda's crest meets his gaze with a sick cheer before smoke leaks from the edges of the ball. Steve whips his spinning head upwards to look for the attackers but he can't see anything as the smoke covers the entire area.

His limbs are still shaking.

He has to help her.

He rises to his feet and everything spins with such speed he almost topples forward. He can't see anything.

"Wanda!" He shouts.

No answer.

_Kittens. _

Steve's shaky hands dig into his jacket pocket searching for the phone he knows Tony shoved into it a few hours before. He doesn't typically carry the device around with him, but Tony had insisted. Steve flips it open cursing slightly as the bright light shines up at him happily despite the confusing buttons playing across it. The light is blinding and in no way, helps his headache. This is why he doesn't tangle with technology unless he has to.

He had a phone he used for a while, but he broke it and Tony's technology is amazingly advanced above anything the public has. Steve jams in the first number he sees and presses call, or he's pretty sure it's call (he's not sure with how everything is blurring) and puts the phone against his ear. It rings.

And rings.

And rings.

If someone doesn't pick up, _he's _going to be the one lecturing about devices not Stark, "Steve?" Natasha's voice meets his ear like a rainbow on a cloudy day. Relief crashes through him.

"Nat, we have a problem." Steve says his brain suddenly scrambling for something profound to say. Problem is the only thing he can come up with. "_Hey, I lost Wanda." _Yup, that's going to go over well. His head is spinning and everything is blurry. Is it supposed to be? No-yes? No that doesn't sound right. Wanda. They have to help her Hydra-they-

"What's going on?" Clint's voice calls in the background.

Steve stills.

Clint it going to murder him, slowly, painfully, with a snow globe or something else entirely harmless to a normal person.

...If Wanda's screams of pain echoing in his head don't do it first.


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note: Deleted scene from Styigan, it really didn't fit at all, so I had to axe it. **

**SPOILERS FOR SHERLOCK S1.**

**Characters: Natasha, Clint, Tony, Loki**

**Warnings: None**

**Written: 2018 some time. :) **

**Note: Not checked for spelling or grammar! **

* * *

"Have you ever had pizza before?" Tony asks and Loki's head whips towards him, black hair smacking against his face.

"No." He answers, and Tony scoffs.

"You've been to Earth how many times and never participated in one of our greatest accomplishments?" Tony demands rhetorically before slapping a hand over his heart, "The Earthling in me cries out for you, we must fix this."

"I've survived this long-" Loki starts, clearly not going for Tony's subtle way of stuffing food down his skinny throat.

"Nope." Tony argues, "This is non negotiable, Reindeer Games." He says and grabs Loki's upper arm pulling him forward, Loki staggers a step, but regains his balance and Tony can feel his general displeasure being directed at the back of his head.

Well, suck it up buttercup.

Tony pulls him into the elevator and glances towards Jarvis's camera, he knows he doesn't have to make contact with Jarvis to get his attention, but Tony does it anyway. "Jarvis, order pizza."

"Your usual, Sir?" Jarvis inquires, and Tony glances at Loki.

"Yeah. Are Natasha, Clint and Bruce still in the communal room?" He asks.

"Indeed, Sir." Jarvis says, "They are talking."

Good. Tony has no desire to force-feed the second Asgardian prince by himself and would like to have back up for _when _not if, things go south. They should do something else rather than just eat the food because Tony _hates _being watched while he eats and he doesn't think Loki will appreciate all of them staring at him. Maybe a movie?

A _movie? _

Honestly.

Now.

With Loki?

That just seems..._wrong. _

Loki wouldn't even be able to _see _it, but he could _hear _it and he's smart, he could probably piece together what's going on. If not, well, Tony does sarcastic commentary, it drives Pepper crazy. Movies are excellent distractions for eating, but not _realizing _that you're eating.

The elevator doors open and Tony blinks in surprise. He forgot he was in an elevator.

"There's nothing infront of us," Tony says to Loki, "It's about twenty feet to the counter." He adds before striding forward and slamming his palms down on the top. Any remains of what was going to be some sort of fried rice is cleaned and the knife's, Tony notes, are missing.

Probably a good move.

"I ordered pizza and were watching a movie." He declares. The small conversation that they'd been having stops and all three heads turn to look at him, Bruce's eyebrow lifted slightly.

"What?"

"We're eating pizza and watching a movie," He repeats as Loki stops about five feet from him, hand resting on the edge of the counter as if to reassure himself where it is. Clint's eyebrows lift in slight amusement at the T-shirt, obviously having gotten the space pun that Tony just realized is present.

NASA studies space and looks for aliens.

Well, okay, yeah, not intentional.

"Is this mandatory?" Clint asks, his tone slightly flat.

Tony shakes his head, "Yep," he answers, with far more cheer than he actually feels, "Loki hasn't had pizza before and I find this offensive, any movies in particular anyone wants to watch? Preferably not a Disney Princess."

He has nothing against Disney Studios, but after Pepper forced him to watch _Tangled _with all the hair and inaccuracies to physics and _lots of singing _he's been turned down by their animated ones. Save _Atlantis: The Lost Empire, _but that's only because of the _lack _of singing replaced with explosions. Explosions are fun, unless they're in the face.

"Well darn," Natasha says her voice deadpan, "there goes all my plans."

Clint whacks her arm, "You've never _seen _a Disney Princess movie."

Natasha raises a challenging eyebrow, "I have."

Clint's eyes dawn with realization and Loki makes a slight snorting noise to his left. Tony stares at them, confused before sharing a look with Bruce. Tony looks at Loki, how does _he _get what was implied there? He's not even native to this planet.

Unless...

Tony frowns, "Have you," he says, caustionly, to Loki, disbelief evident in his voice. "seen Disney Princesses?"

"No," Loki says, his lip twitching on a smirk, "but I know of them."

Oh. That's delightful. "Erm, okay, moving on," Tony says, not _really_ wanting to get into a debate about Ariel, Belle, or the others (whose names he didn't really process and deleted from his memory) "anyone up for BBC's _Sherlock?" _

Actually, for a blind person, that probably would be a frustrating show. More of the important details are shown on the screen rather than spoken, but Loki perks up, actually looking anything other than an unhappy lanky mass. "Sherlock? As in Sherlock Holmes? I've read those." He says.

Tony gives him a confused face and Bruce's eyebrows raise, "You _have?"_

"I read everything in Asgard's library," Loki says, "Midgard had others...Thor gave me a copy."

Oh.

Their earlier screaming match flashes through Tony's mind and he grimaces slightly before shrugging, "Okay, _Sherlock _it is then, but not a Scandal in Bulgaria." Tony hates the episode with something close to a burning passion.

Clint and Natasha gravitate towards the couch in front of the large TV screen and Loki trails after them, feeling around the chairs for a moment before taking a seat on the other couch that is not currently preoccupied by people. Bruce sits on the Natasha and Clint's and Tony takes the remaining seat, leaving Loki on his own.

He pulls up his phone, the device connecting via, Jarvis where season 1 is already loaded, likely also by his AI. _Thank you, J. _

He flicks the play button and promplty spends the next seventeen minutes as they wait for the order to arrive watching everyone else's reactions. Loki's face grows more blank as time passes, likely as his frustration grows from lack of sight and he pulls his feet up, burying his head into his knees. When Jarvis says, "_The order has arrived." _Tony all but leaps from the couch in a volunteer to get it.

"Don't pause!" He calls behind him and quickly escapes into the hall to get to the elevator and grab the take out releasing a breath of slight relief. After paying the very much awed delivery man who promised to never wash his hand in his amazement again as Tony briefly touched it to take the boxes, he returns to the elevator.

He steps into the communal room, boxes in hand happily and plops them into the coffee table in between the two couches, declaring, "Foods here!"

Clint leans forward and flicks the first box open, pulling out a piece and biting into it happily. Natasha and Bruce pick through the boxes before carefully selecting a piece and Tony turns to Loki who still has his head buried in his knees.

If he thinks he's going to get away without eating anything, Tony is probably going to slap him. "Hey, Lokes," He says, the nickname slipping out before he can stop it, "food, remember?"

Loki lifts his head up to give a slight glare, most likely at the nickname and proclaims, "I am not hungry."

Clint snorts, "Yeah right." He argues, "Eat it or I will _make _you." He threatens. Clint sounds serious and Loki's expression darkens slightly. He jerks his head slightly in the direction of the TV.

"Have you seen this before, Barton?" He inquires, almost in a friendly tone.

Clint glances at Natasha for a second before shaking his head, "Not this episode."

"Oh, good," Loki says and smiles slightly, "her murderer was her escort, the ah, 'cab driver' I think it's called here."

Clint's expression flickers with annoyance and before war and murder can break out Tony grabs a piece of pizza and stuffs it into Loki's hand. The Asgardian flinches backwards at it and almost drops it. "Just eat that and we'll leave you alone." Tony promises.

Until tomorrow.

Loki's expression flickers with something unreadable for a moment and Tony forces himself to look away as to _not _stare, which was the purpose of the movie/episode. When he looks back about ten minutes later, the piece is gone and Loki is laying on his side, hands around his stomach, feet curled inwards. He looks like a pathetic sadness ball on the couch.

The episode ends and Tony looks at Loki for a long moment, his breaths are even and deep, indicating sleep and his limbs are lax. He looks strangely peaceful. There isn't any indication of what they learned today, of what happened.

Clint frowns, but grabs one of the blankets hanging over the edge of the couch and drapes it over Loki's bony frame. He doesn't straighten it out like a mother would with her child, practically dumps it on him with little more care than a toss, but it speaks volumes.

Clint is disgusted with what Loki did to him, that much is obvious, but after learning about what happened...it changed things. This is a sign of forgiveness for what happened, that, though he's angry, it doesn't mean he hates him.

It is, like the rest of them have come to terms with, acceptance.


	10. Chapter 11

**Author's Note: This one really came from when me and my friend were messing around. It's technically attached to "And I heard a whisper tell me live". :)**

**Characters: Tony, Thor **

**Warnings: None**

**Written: 2017 some time. :)**

**Note: Not checked for spelling or grammar!**

* * *

Thor loves sandwiches.

Thor, really, _really, _loves sandwiches. In fact, Tony isn't sure he's ever seen someone who loves sandwiches as much as the Asgardian. Shoving two into his mouth at once, Thor shoots Tony a hoty smile that, in response to the Stark can barely manage a grimace.

"You really like sandwiches," Tony comments.

"And you really like stating the obvious," comes the retort in between sandwich bites.

"Wow." Tony says as, despite the two sandwiches Thor is trying to chew, the words are still understandable.

"I thought you were hungry," Thor objects.

"Oh, I was," Tony assures with a nod, "until I saw _that._" Tony says and waves his hands in Thor's general direction, curling his lip upwards."Plus, I couldn't take all the crying and emotions, but now _I'm_ feeling like crying, seeing you like sandwiches _so_ much. Maybe I can get Bruce to take a few hours off of Pietro's surgery, I'm going to need a doctor soon."

Thor's responding expression clearly states, "Whimp."

Tony smacks a hand over his heart, "I have a _delicate _stomach!"

Pulling up the peanut butter knife (of which, Tony is disgusted to say Thor used in the jam too) Thor begins to make his next sandwich.

"What number _is _that?" Tony asks, not entirely sure if he can mentally handle the answer. It must be above ten. At least. Probably more. Thor's a stress eater.

Thor shrugs.

"I hope you'll be okay," Tony scornfully states. "But if you start throwing up everywhere, I'm not cleaning it up."

Thor snickers in response, and, as he's faithfully done to the last dozen or so sandwiches, presses the pieces of bread together and slices it down the middle in a angle with a knife.

"Why do you even bother cutting it?"

"The crust's gross."

"You're hopeless." Tony moans and lets his head drop onto the countertop.

"No, I'm hungry," Thor replies nonchalantly.

"I'm starting to see why Loki rampaged New York. A thousand years of watching you do this, over and _over." _Tony states, his voice muffled through his crossed arms. Thor's amused expression drops almost instantly and he looks far _less _willing to eat the entire kitchen without breaking sweat.

Tony lifts his head up to glance at the Asgardian for a moment and notices his fallen expression. Tony gnaws on his inner lip.

"_My brother is dead, Captain, I am here to retrieve his weapon only. He died with honor." _

Yeah, great going there, Stark.

Tony's brain scrambles for a moment before he raises his eyebrow, "I'm seriously disgusted, though, you used the _same knife." _Tony says and forces his voice to be far more distressed than he really feels.

Thor rolls his eyes, "I've seen you do the same."

Tony slaps a hand over his heart, "_I _would _not. _Have you _seen _how furious Bruce gets when he finds peanut butter or jam where they're not supposed to be?"

Thor pauses for a moment his eye twitching slightly, "No."

"It's terrifying." Tony assures then pauses for a second, "


	11. Chapter 13

**Author's Note: I've always wanted to, and failed, to create a teenage Avengers fic, and this the mess that it turned into. **

**Characters: Phil, Fury, Natasha**

**Warnings: Some gore**

**Written: 2017 some time. :) **

**Note: Not checked for spelling or grammar! **

* * *

Phil lets out a slow breath trying to remind himself, desperately, that giving the agent in front of him a throttle (no matter how appealing) won't solve anything. New recruits usually don't bother him, he loves to play with their minds and make them _think_ they're winning when he's already won the war; but man, this particular agent is driving him _insane._

His arrogance, cockiness and all around stupidity is going to get him killed and no matter how much Phil tries to patiently explain that to the man, it's hopeless. Phil wants to grab at his short hair and give a firm pull then pull on them some more because he honestly _cannot take it anymore. _

The man seems to think that he knows literally everything and people should bow down and kiss his feet then stare in awe at his perfectly gelled hair. Agent Tyson Green, twenty eight, dark hair, obnoxiously blue eyes and excellent hacking skills. Managed through S.H.I.E.L.D.'s most secure files and yes, well impressive, didn't do wonders for the agent's around Green. His ego, however, is very happy.

Phil is a man who attempts to think the best of people at a first glance (with few exceptions), but this man, has tested, snapped, and laughed on the grave of his patience. Does Tyson even _realize _how obnoxious it is to boast that he, and he alone managed through all of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s most secure files? In a mission of life or death when a bullet may change the course of everything telling everyone how amazing he is at hacking won't do anything. Unless Tyson plans on driving everyone _crazy _by simply _not shutting his trap_.

Does he even have a silent mode? Stealth must be nigh impossible for this man because you have to be _quiet_ well doing it. It's ridiculous, Phil's going to lose his mind before he gets a new group of people to work with. Why did he agree to this? Everyone told him this group is impossible but he doubted and snorted then said that he can beat them into shape. Oh, the arrogance. Note to self: listen to fellow trainers.

Phil closes his eyes softly and pinches the bridge of his nose as Tyson continues to talk. He's been..._firmly _saying that he's prepared for the next level on the S.H.I.E.L.D.'s training base and explaining why he's the man for the next mission. It's not a surprise to Phil that Tyson knows _about_ the mission; he is, as Tyson keeps reminding them all "the best hacker S.H.I.E.L.D. has" it's just that Tyson isn't ready for the level that the mission is. Fury's been carefully selecting people for months after Maria dropped her undercover act to report to him.

Something about pirating trade of leaked S.H.I.E.L.D. weapons that needs to be shut down immediately. Phil hasn't been requested on the team yet, but he's slightly expecting it. He will not, however, go with Tyson. He's trying really, _really_ hard to not lose his stoic, calm, and patient outward demeanor but he's pretty sure that Tyson hasn't done anything harder than deciding what to have for breakfast yet.

He's really _not_ ready for this type of mission and Phil isn't quite sure how to tell him. Phil releases his nose from the death grip he has on it and slowly peels his eyelids apart to stare at the man who is incapable of shutting up in front of him.

Tyson is talking with a no-nonsense tone, though Phil admittedly isn't trying _to_ hard to understand what he's saying, more trying to figure out how it is that Tyson actually managed to hack into S.H.I.E.L.D.'s data banks. He's smart, insanely smart but there's a level of annoying that Phil can stand and Tyson...Tyson has rocketed above it.

"...All I'm saying is that, with my level of experience in the computer, I would be perfect for the mission, Coulson. I could track the hacker's with my hands tied behind my back. You have to let me go, let me prove myself to Fury that I'm ready for a higher form of missions. These stupid training exercises are getting me nowhere, I have to be out on the field and-"

Phil's calm expression finally snaps and he raises an eyebrow. Tyson, who's been staring at his face unbreakably and talking for the last seven minutes-not pausing for breath comes to a slow halt. Ah, silence. Phil remembers it well. It's a truly beautiful thing. He should take moments out of every day just to appreciate the beauty of _quiet. _

"Sir?" Tyson asks, slightly hesitantly.

Phil folds his arms across his chest and lets out a breath before answering the man, "Agent Green, I understand your desperation to get out on the mission field but going with this reckless desire to prove yourself will only get you killed."

"But-" Tyson protests his eyebrows raising in distress so much they almost launch off of his face.

"Tyson," Phil says. The word comes out slightly harsher than he intended but the man silences. "You haven't even passed the training exercises for your level yet. They're there for a reason, you have to be prepared for what these things will throw at you. It's not like training, alright? The bad guys don't stop if you get hurt and you're not ready for a field mission." Phil rests a hand on Tyson's shoulder, "You're smart, Tyson, we all know that," a little _too_ well, "and I know that you want to prove yourself to Fury. I can't, however, let you go on this mission without you being prepared for what might happen. Alright? Do you understand?"

Tyson's shoulder's slump and he releases a heavy breath. "Yes, Sir."

"Good." Phil says and releases the man's shoulder.

Tyson looks up at him, "But sir, I really think that if I could just _try-" _

"Agent Green, I said no." Phil interrupts, "You want confirmation? Talk to Fury."

Tyson looks at him like he might argue and for a total of three seconds Phil is almost one hundred percent sure that he's going to punch him but Tyson unclenches his fists and raises his head. "You'll see that I'm ready someday-and you'll regret holding me back." The agent storms down the hall and into a room and though Phil have expects him to childishly slam the door, he doesn't.

Heaving a sigh, Phil shakes his head back and forth staring at the empty hallway resisting the urge to smack his head against the wall. "I seriously doubt it." He mumbles to himself. Why are Level Two agents so impulsively stupid? _Every. Time._ Those are the ones that are the most trouble; One is cautious, careful and memorizes almost everything and can recite it back to you perfectly, three is when they start sending them out onto the field and they mature greatly but Two? Two is when they get cocky, think they're ready for everything and anything and most try to force themselves onto missions. Needless to say, it doesn't end well.

"I wonder if he realizes that my office is the other direction." Phil spins around hand flying to his gun in surprise at the voice. How he'd missed the steps are beyond him, he's just so frustrated with Tyson that he wasn't paying attention to his surroundings and now-oh. It's just Fury. Even if he _had_ been paying attention he probably wouldn't have heard him.

Phil lets out a soft groan and shoves his gun back into it's holster. "Who knows? Sometimes I wonder."

Fury smirks, "That Green? I've heard a lot about him from his superiors."

Phil face palms, "I doubt their words even come close." He's not sure whether to scream in frustration or follow after Tyson to make sure that he doesn't actually manage to get himself aboard the mission. If Tyson is skilled in one thing beyond hacking it's driving people to their knees in frustration. The man just hits a _nerve. _

"You here with a mission, Sir?" Coulson asks having to put far more effort into keeping his voice level than normal. He's been expecting it, Fury usually pulls him in on the more difficult missions. He's been called his "good eye" quite a few times and Phil is admittedly proud of it. However, Green will never _shut up _about the fact that he went on the mission and could have kept an eye on him.

"Yes," Fury says and Phil turns to look at the director keeping eye contact with him. Fury puts a hand on Phil's shoulder, "I want you to take a few days off."

Phil struggles to keep his jaw from falling. This isn't what he expected. He's a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, running mission after mission without breaks is sort of part of the job description. He's taken days off, yeah, but usually only after he was severely injured and _had _to. He doesn't just...take breaks. He hasn't since he was a Level Four or something. It's been _years. _"Sir, I'm not sure that I-" Phil starts to protest but Fury gives him the _look. _It amazes him, sometimes, that the director can literally say things with his eyebrows. He's had full conversations with them. Currently it's a shut-up-and-stop-talking look.

"I know you've been working hard recently, Coulson. You're wearing yourself thin. From the looks of it, you might've tasered Green." Fury says and Phil pales slightly.

"You saw the whole thing?"

"No," Fury admits and Phil can't stop the small rush of relief that crashes through him. "But I saw enough. Just three days, alright? I'll call you if I need you to come in but go watch movies for seventy two hours or something." Fury commands.

Phil wants to protest, childishly stomp his feet and yell that he wants to come on the mission but he doesn't. "Yes, Sir. But what about Maria's mission? I can take the break after."

"I'm going in." Fury says and Phil bites his lip. It's _really _serious then, Fury goes on missions, but only when he needs to. He typically guides everyone to where they need to go and watches from the background like a one-eyed, deadly shadow. Maybe he should just sneak aboard the craft, they might need him. He can't sit and do _nothing _well they all risk their lives.

"I know what you're thinking, Coulson and _no, _you aren't coming." Fury says and Phil runs a hand through his hair.

"I can't just sit and do _nothing." _Phil argues.

"You can, and you will. Now go, I don't want to see your face until Friday." Fury commands and Phil frowns before giving a sigh of defeat. Turning, Phil schools his frustrated expression before walking forward. Fine, Fury can ban him from this mission but the next one he's coming even if he has to strap himself to the bottom of the jet the whole journey there.  
Phil walks through the base and apparently did a bad job at keeping his face blank because people all but _leap _out his way looking terrified. Phil doesn't really focus on them, more so on getting _out _because he just wants to get to his apartment and throw something. He _knows _that Fury's doing this to help him, let him catch his breath after running a long race but it just makes him angry. He's perfectly capable of helping just as much as the next one. He suddenly realizes exactly how Green feels.

But unlike Tyson, he _can _help. But he isn't allowed to. Ugh!

Phil finally leaves his thoughts enough to focus on something other than the fact that he feels utterly _useless _and can't do _anything _about it when he steps into the streets of New York. The buildings are rising around him, glowing like phantom mirrors; cars are passing like colorful wind and the air smells like pollution and dirt.

Phil moves forward shoving his hands into his pockets shifting his fingers around the devices within. A handful of weapons, a few trackers and a phone. It's somewhere near eight probably closer to nine PM and he's subconsciously aware that he's at risk of getting mugged. He'd love to see them try though.

Phil grits his teeth and walks for somewhere near and hour before he can see the apartment building. It looks like a pile of rocks bonded together and had hideous children. An ugly shade of red with a yellow border that reminds him strongly of ketchup and mustard spread across the bricks like paint. The inside is much nicer, it's definitely a don't judge by it's appearance kinda thing. He wasn't impressed when he first saw it. Though he's only been a handful of times in the last few months and owned the apartment for years he still is in awe by just _how _hideous it is.

He has the key, right? Phil pauses next to the building digging his hands through the pockets almost frantically. Because if it's not on him right now he can't get into the building because Fury doesn't want him back at base until Friday. Maybe he could call and explain that he lost his key and Fury has to take him with him.

Probably not.

Oh, this is stupid. He's a trained S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, prepared for anything right? Nope, not for getting inside his apartment. Who needs that right? Housing is lame. _Ugh! _He never takes the key _out _of his pocket how is there anyway it could disappear? If one of the Level Two agents stole it, Phil is coming after them and will make Darth Vader look _cuddly_.

This is embarrassing and stupid. _Where is the key!? _

Phil jerks his head upwards suddenly as a low metallic _ting _echoes through the air. His hand immediately goes to the gun he has on hidden on his belt and he squints at the darkness in front of him. There's a dark alleyway between his apartment building and a car garage (the car garage looks like a five star hotel compared to the apartment, it's almost ridiculous. The designers must get a kick whenever they come down this street) where dumpsters are. Phil hasn't really thought about it until now but his paranoia is rising like a steady tide and he frowns before moving forward slowly.

His footsteps are silent across the dirty sidewalk and he breaks off from it standing in front of the alley. His silhouette spreads across the ground making it harder to see and Phil squints into the darkness. He can make out the outline of the green dumpster and the lonely looking boxes next to it. Not cats. Isn't there always cats around these areas in movies?

Phil shoves the thought to the side and takes a step forward again. He did hear something. He's positive, if it _wasn't _a cat, what was it? Maybe Fury's right, he does need a break and he's trying to attack imaginary animals and shadows for things that don't even exist. Phil sighs and gives the bridge of his nose a firm pinch.

"You're losing it, Coulson." He mumbles to himself. He should just go ask for the spare key that the people at the front desk kept for him. Or maybe he has the spare key, well..._had_. He can't remember. Phil turns to live pocketing the gun but freezes as a low moan of pain sings through the alleyway like lightning ripping across the skies.

He whips around suddenly _far _more interested in the alley than he was before and strides forward keeping a hand within reaching distance of his gun. This could be a trap and he doesn't want to be caught without a way to cut the net.

Phil reaches the end of the alley before he sees something in the darkness, the streetlights don't reach out this far and everything is blanketed in dark shadows. He blinks several times trying to will his eyes to adjust faster but it's not working.

A shadow doesn't look right among the darkness, oddly out of place like mold on a piece bread. Discarded blankets, maybe. Possibly trash left out for an unfortunate soul to trip on. Phil leans down slightly and his eyebrows shoot upwards as he realizes this isn't a lump of blankets or trash, _it's a person._

Phil leans down grabbing his phone from his pocket and flipping the screen open. The light immediately blasts into the alleyway with the full intensity of a star going supernova and Phil winces slightly as his eyes mewl in protest. Phil ignores his instincts staring at the figure in front of him.

It's a young woman, sixteen or fifteen at the most, with long red hair tangled into a bun and falling down her back in a mess of rats. Her clothing is simple, dark pants with a pale grey shirt. Wrapped around her middle is a belt with a red hourglass in the center. On her feet are a simple pair of ballerina slippers that are well worn through and stained. Phil frowns at her appearance. She looks horribly sick, pale and is bleeding badly across her left arm in a gash that extends from her shoulder to a little bit above her elbow. She looks like a porcelain doll that even the most gentle of touches will shatter.

Phil grits his teeth tightly, he should call in S.H.I.E.L.D., but he's banned from contacting them or showing his face for three days. What if he'd been attacked or something, did Fury even _think _this through? Or what if he finds a near dead teenanger in the streets between his ugly apartment and the glorious parking garage?

What is he supposed to do? He's not a medical doctor and judging from her appearance she needs one desperately. He's trained in medical procedures, of course, he's supposed to be ready for anything-but this seems far above his level. Phil purses his lips. He has to do something, he's not going to leave her out here to die and the only medical equipment he has is in his apartment.

Phil glances at the set of stairs for the fire escape on the back of the building then back at the ballerina. Hopefully no one is looking out their window right now or it will be awkward to explain. Yeah, I just carry random unconscious half dead people into my apartment every now and thing, no biggie.

Phil's attention returns to his charge as the woman lets out another soft groan her fingers curling into fists slowly. Is she waking up? She doesn't look like she's waking up. No, she's not waking up, just shifting because of pain. Alrighty then. Phil slowly shifts his hands underneath her knees and shoulders picking her up bridal style.

The teenanger is extremily light, alarmilnly so and Phil bites his lower lip before looking towards the fire escape with purpose. He's going to make it up the stairs to his apartment and help this girl. He has a few days off from S.H.I.E.L.D. anyway, because of his banishment so he has time to help her.

Phil moves forward towards the fire escape and swings a leg over the railing to the fence around the escape hopping awkwardly on the other foot to get both his feet over it. Phil quickly scales the stairs as if he's done it a thousand times even though he never _has_ and gives a small frustrated breath as he realizes that he _still _doesn't know where he put his key.

Fine, he's picking the door. Phil slowly sets the girl down on the wall next to said door and her head leans forward tilting towards the left slightly. Phil grabs a long string of wire he has in sewn into his right boot and shoves the thin metal into the lock and twists it upwards then to the side. The lock gives a small hiss as it opens and Phil gives a small smirk of satisfaction. Ha, Coulson one, lock zero.

Phil turns back to the teenager and his smirk falls. He needs to get her help right now. The wounds look serious. Phil picks her up again and steps into the apartment sideways shutting the door with his foot as he elbows the light on.

The apartment isn't huge, with a kitchen, dining and living room in the a large single space with a hall leading off to a bathroom and bedroom. He hasn't had a ton of time to decreate it, (nor has he really cared) so it's pathetically bare.

Phil moves forward and sets the teen on the couch and moves towards the kitchen ripping open a drawer that promptly dumps a package of bandages, a bottle of motrin and glue on the ground. The drawer is stuffed, ridiculously so and Phil digs through continents looking for disinfectant and a roll of gauze.

Come on, there's some _in _here, he used it last time he was here. He should have some, well he doesn't go grocery shopping often and usually has moldy, lumpy milk in the fridge he always keeps his medical supplies up to date. His fingers brush against fabric and Phil latches onto it ripping it from the back of the drawer and dumping more medical supplies at his feet. Ignoring the mess, Phil moves forward towards his patient with purpose making it across the room in a few strides.

The light blue walls reflect the light making it feel brighter than it really is and the red carpet stands out obnoxiously against his black boots. He really does need to find his house key though, if he has to break into his apartment every time he needs to come here, life will be...difficult.

Phil reaches the girl and leans down next to her crumpled form. In the not phone-light he can see the shadows etched beneath her eyes like bruises, how exhausted she looks even though she's asleep (unconscious maybe) and how pale she is. What happened to her is beyond him. Maybe she was mugged. Her appearance suggests otherwise, though. She looks homeless, akin to having lived off the streets for several years.

Phil clenches his jaw and rolls up her light grey sleeve to her shoulder to stare at the cut closer. It's from a knife, that much is obvious and it's deep. Phil rips off a bit of the gauze and dabs disinfectant on it before gently brushing it over the wound.

As soon as the fabric makes contact with her pale skin, the teen inhales sharply and green eyes rip open as her posture jumps into defensive. Her breaths become short, swift and shaky and Phil forces his hand to remain steady about an inch next to her upper arm watching her for another moment. She's remaining still and her eyes are wide, terrified and locked to the ceiling.

She seems entranced by it, but not in a good way. He needs to bring her back to reality to get some answers.

"Hey," Phil says gently and she jerks her emerald eyes towards his face instead. Confusion plays across her features before her expression goes blank and she grows stiff. Phil frowns slightly at the action. She's been trained in the art of masking. It isn't some sort of reflex, it's branded into her brain. "It's okay, you're safe here." He adds softly. He commands his voice to be inviting and gentle, reassuring. Who knows what this girl has been through. He's seem plenty of people after traumatic experiences to know that yelling at them doesn't help. (Though it doesn't seem like something Tyson wouldn't be above). Ah, shut up.

The girl is eyeing his hand warily and she slowly sits up, looking ready to promptly collapse. He doesn't shift, keeping the distance between them silently letting her know that he's not going to attempt anything on her she doesn't want him to. Because he doesn't want to stress her out more when she already looks more than ready to scream.

"I found you in an alley and you were pretty banged up. Can I help you?" He asks. This apparently, was the wrong thing to say. The girl's eyes widen considerably and she shifts them towards her arm slightly, looking panicked. If she would just let him _help _her then she wouldn't have to be in so much pain. _C'mon kid_, he prods silently.

The girl lets out a small sound of distress that reminds Phil oddly of the broken sound a kitten makes when you accidently kick them and his heart yearns for her. "My name is Phil Coulson, but you can just call me Phil, alright?"

The girl doesn't shift or blink, looking frozen on the spot to the couch. "I want to help you." He adds after a moment. He needs to because for some reason she has become his new mission. She needs help and he's going to give it to her. "Will you let me help," he hesitates for a second before adding, "_please._"

The girl slowly shifts her arm forward as if in a trance and Phil moves towards it. Ha! Yes! Victory! He gently dabs the cloth onto the wound, noting the girls heavy flinch as he makes contact with her skin. She stares at the far wall almost aggressively and Phil is suddenly very aware of the stupid art he has hanging up on it. Nothing too embarrassing, just random gifts that various agents had thought to gift him with over the years. He's never really _liked _any of them, honestly, but he feels obligated to hang up. There's a few landscapes, a modern art style, and one with an truly hideous, creepy, stalkerish cow. Seriously, the cow makes him uncomfortable.

It's always watching. Waiting for the unsuspecting to turn their back before it takes it's next victim.

Phil finishes wiping away the dirt from the gash and grabs the gauze laying on the floor and rips off another piece far lengthier and wraps it around her arm. Wounding around and around from her shoulder to her elbow before the entire thing is covered. It will scar, for sure, and probably feel like her very own personal shark gnawing at her arm for the next few days but she'll live.

Phil sits back on his heels and looks up at the girl who has carefully laid her hands on her lap looking down at them as if they hold all the world's greatest secrets. Phil wraps up the remaining gauze. He wants to know what happened, why she looks like she just clawed her way out from a grave and why she's here. How she got into the alley and where her parents are. If their still alive, they must be worried.

Phil bites his tongue slightly before letting the question slide off of it, "What's your name?"

The girl looks up at him again and gives a very small tilt of her head, she studies him for almost a full minute before giving a soft answer: "Natasha Romanoff." Her voice is laced with a faint Russian accent and Phil blinks in surprise. This girl isn't from another city or state she's from another _continent. _Natasha. Phil stares at her for a second, yeah, he can see Natasha. The name suits her well.

Phil squints slightly, "Why are you here?"

Natasha purses her lips and her left hand rubs over her right knuckles so tightly it almost looks painful. "I am...I am here because I ran."

Ran. From what?

Her parents? Her country? _What? _

"I don't understand." Phil says softly, it's better to be honest when you first meet people, right? He's trying to make her feel safe and lying won't be very helpful in that matter. If she's ever going to tell him anything she has to trust him and he's _going_ to get information on where and why she ran.

"I do not expect you to." Natasha says, her knuckles starting to turn a pale shade of white. "Thank you." She says after a small moment.

Phil gives a small smile, "Happy to be of assistance. Should I call your parents? You're going to be staying the night."

Natasha shakes her head, "I do not have parents." Oh. An orphan. Maybe she ran after they died. "I can manage on my own, however." She makes a move to stand and Phil grabs her shoulder shoving her back down onto the couch. She winces slightly and he grabs the medical equipment.

"Nope, you're staying for at least tonight, alright? I don't know where else you plan on going anyway. I'm going to go grab some blankets and put this away. _Do not move from this couch." _He commands and rises to his feet. Natasha's hands fall limp her her lap and he can feel her quizzical gaze as he moves away from her as if she doesn't understand the meaning of help.

Phil tosses the gauze onto the counter and sets the bottle of disinfectant next to it before quickly moving towards the bedroom. He flicks on a lightswitch as he steps into the room bare white walls greet him with a window on the left far one. A bed is in the corner and next to it a dresser, the room smells of old and dust and his nose twitches slightly. Yay for dust. Phil saunters forward and leans down grabbing the bottom drawer and pulls it open. He's pretty sure this is where he put the extra blankets it not he's going to be doing a manhunt.

The drawer is, surprisingly full of happy warm blankets and he grabs the first one he sees, a deep red one. He stands and turns shoving the drawer closed with his foot before walking swiftly back into the kitchen/dining room. Hopefully she didn't make a break for it. He'll hunt her down if she did and drag her back here by her ear.

A head of dark red hair greets him from over the side of the couch and the small building anxiety diminishes. Phil walks towards her purposefully making his footsteps heavy and loud before he tosses the blanket at her face. "Here." He says as she jumps from the sudden contact. "We'll talk more in the morning, alright?" He says and the teenager just watches him warily.

He's not going to pull a gun on her, will she calm down?

He sighs internally, it's going to be a long few days. He says the next sentence more to himself than her: "Get some sleep."

Chapter Two:

The silence doesn't help settle her unease.

It only makes her remember.

It wasn't a common thing, silence, there was almost always sound. Silence meant that she'd done something wrong and she was being punished. The gunshots ringing through the air, piano playing and feet hitting the ground again and again. The rhythmic tap was haunting and made her want to tug at her hair and scream but she focused on her steps, making it perfect, as she was told to.

She's a master of stealth and knows perfectly well how to draw attention to herself and how not to. She doesn't want to be here. The strong desire to pick up and run is starting to become a pulsing ache. She doesn't want to know what he'll do to her if she does move though. She was told to stay here and when she didn't follow orders in the past it always ended in pain.

She didn't take the blanket.

Instead with careful fingers, almost as if it's breakable (which she knows is stupid but if she damages it, what will he do? She saw two guns on him and at least three other weapons) she placed on the ground beside the couch. She made as little noise as possible and waited with baited breath for almost a full five minutes before she determined that the man wasn't going to harm her.

Of all the places to pass out, Natasha. You had to pick the _one ally _with this man next to it. It's not like she _asked _for it. She was looking for food and her muscles gave out. Her arm is probably infected, she had the dig the tracking device out of it and the only thing she had was a knife. It wasn't the most pleasant experience she's ever had but now all they'll find is the small device sitting at the bottom of a lake.

Time is passing in what feels almost backwards.

It's around four thirty in the morning the last time she checked yet the night has never felt slower. She needs the man, Coulson to come out so she can convince him she needs to leave. She can't stay here. She has to keep moving because the longer she lingers the more likely they are to find her.

She can't go back.

_She can't._

She refuses, they'll have to drag her kicking and screaming.

She can't stay here, she _needs to keep moving. _Can't he see that? The man is dangerous though, so she held her tongue.

The bandages on her arm are stiff, bulky and slightly awkward in a way that makes her uncomfortable. The last time she can remember she used any was when she was about ten and someone misfired a bullet that hit her in the stomach. The scar is ugly, jagged and she doesn't like looking at it. Though she was supposed to be devoid of emotions there was some distaste to the girl who shot her after that.

Natasha lets her head drop against the back of the couch and her hands go lax. It's dangerous and stupid to relax though, something she knows too well.

How does she get out of here?

She could attempt to leave right now but with her arm she's not sure she can sneak through a window. She wasn't really conscious until after Coulson tried to wrap her arm, but she was sort of there. She heard him climbing stairs and she needs both arms to climb. She doesn't have a weapon or a layout of the building. Coulson has the upper hand here and she doesn't know _why _he wants her.

She's nothing useful.

Unless the man is aware of the ransom that they put on her head. Quick, easy, money.

Ugh!

What is she supposed to do, though? Cry?

Natasha drags her gaze up to the clock, it's been twenty three minutes since the last time she checked making it six ten AM. Natasha feels her body go rigid as the sound of movement rings from the other room in the apartment. The apartment isn't small by any means, but she's seen bigger.

He's moving.

Is he going to shoot her?

What would the purpose of him wrapping her wound be, then?

Natasha gnaws on her inner lip, but forces her outward appearance to be calm. The sounds of movement quiet considerably before she hears Coulson moving away from what she assumes is his bedroom. His footsteps, she can tell are a forced, obnoxious loud because they sound bulky and awkward. Unnatural.

Coulson steps into the room and her spine gets tighter as she feels him move towards the couch. He steps into her view of vision and she resists the urge to raise an eyebrow. Yesterday, he was in a full suit, tie and everything looking professional and intimidating now? He's in grey sweatpants and a loose shirt that has to be from America's Fourth of July. The flag is waving dramatically across the white background with an older form of writing picking out bits of the Declaration of Independence that are splattered across the flag and background.

Her expression falls to a blank neutral despite her desire to laugh.

She hasn't really laughed in years and doesn't plan to start now.

Phil's blonde hair is spiked up in a tired bedhead but the faint rings under his eyes signify the little sleep he got last night. Probably more than her. He likely _attempted_.

His eyebrows shoot upwards in surprise as he meets her gaze, "You're still here." He notes and this time she _does _raise an eyebrow. Does it look like she moved?

"Yes." She bites her tongue panic splashing across her. She's not supposed to talk back, they didn't like it. He probably won't too. Natasha quickly sweeps her gaze over him for weapons. She can't see anything obvious but she's sure there's something.

Phil either doesn't notice her rising panic or doesn't comment on it as he glances at the blanket, "You didn't sleep." He doesn't say it as a question more like a statement that she feels little desire to confirm or shoot down.

"Are you hungry? You look hungry, I'll make breakfast." Phil says and moves away from her line of sight. She twists around on the couch almost immediately to follow him her sight. He..._asked _her? They never did. She's been running for a little over two months but the way people act outside her targets and trainers still confuses her.

Why did he ask her?

Isn't she a prisoner here.

"Admittedly, I don't think I have more than lumpy milk in the fridge so I hope you're okay with dry cereal...If I have that." Phil narrates and walks behind the counter to pull open a cupboard. His eyebrows meet in his distress as he pushes several objects through it. Maybe glass, it sounds like glass, and plastic.

After a moment he pulls out a box of cereal that her brain scrambles with for a moment to translate. Cheerios.

Cheery cereal? Really? _Why? _No one likes mornings. It would just make her frustrated and toss them across the room. Though she's never had any so maybe they do bring cheer-not that she really cares. She's not eating it. She trusts Phil about as much as she does a man with a gun pointed at her head with a promise to shoot. He may not bare weapons she can see but he must have some on him.

She would.

Phil opens the box and digs through the bag for a moment before throwing a handful of the golden cereal into his mouth. She didn't really get what they looked like he moved to fast. Phil swallows the cheerful cereal before meeting her gaze from across the room.

"Are you going to just sit there?"

She doesn't answer.

Or move.

So...yes. She's going to sit here.

This couch is nice, friendly and hasn't tried to kill her yet. She is quite fond of this couch. If he set up traps she's not going to fall for them. Phil shrugs before putting the box on the countertop and turning to the cupboard again. He pulls out two glasses and fills them with water before tucking the cereal box under one arm and moving towards the couch again. As he does so, she turns back to the disturbing cow painting.

Phil sits on the coffee table about a foot and a half away and she licks her lips before firmly biting her lower one. Does he have to be so close, she was quite alright with him being on the other side of the apartment.

Phil sets a glass down beside him and the cereal box before lifting the remaining glass towards her.

What if he poisoned it?

She watched him fill the glass though. It should be fine...right? No, she shouldn't risk it.

Phil seems to sense her paranoia and without words takes the other glass and downs the entire thing before resting the empty glass on the floor beside the leg. He outstretches the glass again that she takes cautiously with her right hand.

Her left is firmly presses against her side where she may protect it from further harm. She doesn't have any medicine and if it gets infected she's done for.

Phil grabs the box of cereal again as Natasha cautiously presses the glass to her lips. The cool liquid rushes down her throat and relief crashes through her. She didn't realize how thirsty she was until now. She quickly drinks the rest of the glass and resists the urge to ask for more.

She'll be fine. She'll leave soon anyway and can find more...well _steal_ it.

Phil tosses another mouthful of the cheerios into his mouth and Natasha watches him with slight interest. He pauses after a moment and outstretches the box to her. She doesn't take any. The box looks _far _to cheerful to be safe.

Phil raises an eyebrow after a moment at her expression, "Have you had these before?"

Natasha meets his gaze, "No." Nor does she really want to.

"I'm not going to poison you." He says after a few seconds of awkward silence. "I promise I'm just trying to help. Now eat, you look dead on your feet."

Phil waves the yellow box more aggressively towards her and with some irritation she shoves her hand into the cardboard, tensely, before grabbing a few of the pieces. It feels sticky. She withdraws her hand and stares at the six pieces for a moment with intensity. Why did they put holes in the middle? Wouldn't it have just been easier to do circles?

Phil snickers slightly and she lifts her gaze from the cheerios to him. He offers no elaboration and shoves another handful into his mouth. How can he stand the stickiness? After a pointed look from Phil she shoves the happy cereal into her mouth and chews.

It doesn't taste happy.

It tastes like dirt.

Or at least, honey covered grain. It's not _bad_ per say now that she's actually tasting it and not just chewing, it's sort of sweet. Huh. The food they had there was always the same. She never got to try new things until she escaped and by then she could only take what wouldn't be missed. Typically bread or sometimes bagels.

She likes the cereal of good cheer.

She swallows and looks up at Phil. Can she take more? She should've taken more when he offered it to her. Is that all he'll give her because she talked back to him?

More surprise than she wants to admit to flashes through her as he outstretches the box to her again. "Do you like it?" He asks and eyes the yellow paperboard as she reaches for it again, "I'm not the biggest fan."

Natasha grabs a bigger handful her stomach twisting painfully as she does so reminding her that it's been a few days since she last ate. And a good period of time before that. She's been focusing on _moving, _eating has been a second priority or maybe a third.

Phil sets the box down on the ground next to the blanket and stretches. He still looks like he got ran over by a bus then decided to move on anyway. "You look like a drowned rat, no offense." He says and she pauses chewing on the magical cheerios to meet his gaze with a frustrated one.

She hasn't had a mirror or a brush nor really cared about her appearance.

She's been a little busy.

"I'm going to assume you don't have any other clothing." Phil says and she gives a slow nod. Is that bad? She had a total of three at one period of time. They only replaced it if you broke it. Phil purses his lips before leaning forward.

"Natasha." He says her name almost sadly. Did she do something wrong? Oh gosh, she needs to get out of here. After a momentary pause he looks up at her, "There's a shower down the hall on the right. Use it. When you get out, we'll talk."

Phil makes a move to stand and grabs the precious cheerios' box off the ground. "Sir," Natasha says after a moment and he turns to look at her, confused. "I need to leave. I can't stay here."

Phil tilts his head slightly, "Why?"

_Cats._

Does she have to answer?

_He has weapons._

This was his goal all along, wasn't it? To withdraw information from her. That's why he gave her the food and the water. She shouldn't have accepted. Why is she such an idiot?

"I…" Why can't she think of anything to say? She's a master of lies, deception...why is nothing coming? The best she can come up with is that her parents will worry but didn't she say that she doesn't have any last night? Brilliant move, Nat.

Phil shifts slightly the cheerios shifting on the inside of the plastic. She has little left to lose.

Natasha squeezes her eyes shut. "Are you going to shoot me?"

She hears, rather than sees the cheerios box drop on the ground. Natasha peels her eyelids apart with some effort as Phil's shocked expression meets her face. "I'm sorry..._what?"_

Natasha purses her lips forcing herself to seem like she's gained confidence. "Shoot me. I saw your guns, Sir, I would like to know now."

There's two major ways to gain information. One: Ask.

Two: Deceive people into telling you.

Natasha usually rests solely in the second, her web is set and the threads ready to be tangled. Maybe. With how slow her brain is moving at this panicked haze she may not get very far.

Phil runs a hand through his hair and for the first time since she met him, looks utterly frazzled. He moves back to the coffee table, carefully avoiding the cheerios and sits down in front of her.

"No."

"Why?"

"Why so?"

"I'm dangerous."

"You're a child."

"Teenager."

"Same thing. Do you think I'm going to shoot you?"

Natasha hesitates for a moment, "Yes."

Is she incapable of keeping her mouth shut? She doesn't trust this man. _She does not. _Why does he keep pulling information from her? _She's _the one with the spider's web not him, yet it feels like she's continuously kicking herself. She's exhausted. She hasn't slept more than what's utterly necessary for human life in the last two months ran off of bits of bread and the occasional water bottle or drinking fountain she could find.

"_You're growing lax, Natalia."_

Natasha shoves the memory that's pulsing at the back of her head out and meets the eyes of Coulson again. Phil looks like she kicked him, "Alright. Your shirt looks like it's been through a war zone," _oh, how little he knows, "_Do you mind borrowing one of mine?"

Natasha's eyebrows meet at her confusion, "Why? I will not be here long."

Phil smirks, "We'll see. Shower, go."

000o000

Despite her silent promises, Natasha doesn't leave the apartment. Two days pass in what feels backwards. Every time she attempts an escape, Phil seems to just _be there. _When she isn't planning his death in frustration or trying her best to ignore him in rebellion, she sleeps. For some reason, Phil being there settles the little voice at the back of her head that assures her that sleep is bad, because if he's _so flipping intent _on keeping her there, he won't let anyone take her, right?

After some three days since the night on the alleyway, Natasha sits on the couch, (a spot she has silently claimed as her own, even though she's leaving the moment Phil leaves her by herself) she runs her hands through her messy hair. The shower felt amazing-though she would never admit it aloud.

The shirt Phil made her take is a deep black with some sort of bird encrusted into the shoulder. She recognizes it, but can't place from where. Just another thing she should avoid as she was taught, something about them being dangerous. It's baggy but comfortable. It's warmer than her other shirt was too, which is nice. New York isn't as cold as Russia but it has it's moments.

With a rather aggressive pull towards a knot, Natasha hisses through her teeth at the strain it puts on her arm. Phil hasn't asked any more questions since the first day just given directions or been some sort of annoying shadow, that despite how much she leaves the sun he's _still there._

What does he _want _from her?

She knows if she asks, though, he'll answer with a question in return and she really doesn't feel like revealing any more than she has too.

Phil glances up from the book he's reading (though she's sixty percent sure it's a cookbook and he's just watching her) and she doesn't offer an answer just proceeds on the de-tangling.

He glances at something else before closing the book and moving forward. He sits down on the other cushion on the couch as he's done a lot the last few days and hums to himself for a moment.

"I think it's time we address this." Phil says and Natasha turns her gaze to look at him. What? There's a lot of things they should address.

"You can't keeping going on by yourself, so we have two choices." Phil says and Natasha purses her lips. _He _has two choices, not _we. _"I either turn you to the CPS or you stick with me."

Natasha's blood rushes cold and her hands drop. "No."

She can't hurt anyone else. If she stays here, that's what will happen. She's already been here too long. They'll find her soon, tracking device or not.

Phil tilts his head, "Yeah, I kind of assumed you'd say that." Phil pulls a phone from his pocket and Natasha feels a spaz of panic run through her.

"Wait!" She protests and leans forward across the couch in a swift movement snatching the metal device from his hand. Natasha clutches it to her chest. He can't report her. _He can't. _Frustration travels through her to extreme levels. Her voice comes out more of a panicked gasp than a solid sentence, "What do you _want _from me?"

Phil pauses for a moment before meeting her eyes, "You to trust me."


	12. Chapter 14

**Author's Note: Haha, so I'm digging through old work I've written over the last few years and came across this painful gem. :) I can't remember when I officially finished it, but I'm guessing that it was in May or June of 2018, so yep. Anyway. **

**One of the things that really bothered me about Thor: Ragnarok was how carelessly they handled Jane and Thor's relationship. I shipped (and still ship) them hard and it really made Frigga's sacrifice almost meaningless. I just look at Jane and Thor in the first two movies and I honestly can't see them not _try _to maintain their relationship or Thor not _take her with him._So this is sort of an exploration of what the heck _happened _to Darcy, Jane, and Erik between the Dark World and Infinity War. And Thor feels, you're welcome. :)**

**Pairings: Thor/Jane.**

**Rated for: Minor violence, heavy themes. No slash, no smut, no incest, no non-con, language is all K. **

**Characters: Thor, Jane, Darcy, Dr. Selvig, other Asgardians (mentioned)**

**Written: 2018 some time. **

**Note: Not checked for spelling or grammar! **

* * *

What More Could I Lose?

"And what if you're wrong?" Rocket's voice pierces through Thor's thoughts sharply and he stares at the small creature for a moment, his thoughts skidding to a halt. Frigga's dead body crashes through his head, holding Loki's dying body and his corpse, watching Odin's dust fade, Heimdall's pain filled groan, Loki's soft voice confirming to him that the Warriors Three are indeed dead, Valkyrie standing in front of Heimdall to take the worst of a stab and her lifeless corpse falling to the ground.

Pain.

Hurt.

Anguish.

Jane had died with their unborn child.

Their marriage had not been public, it didn't have the propaganda of an Asgardian wedding it didn't have thousands of guests, visitors from other Realms or even Thor's closest friends. Tony knew, because Jane's projects were funded by him and her walking around with her engagement ring had been fairly obvious. Tony had demanded answers with a twinkle in his eye and Thor had had to give them.

Tony was happy for them and offered to assist in any way he could; Thor and Jane only begged for his silence on the manner. Though he was slightly surprised, Tony didn't argue.

They kept it quiet to not have interference from Asgard.

Thor, when he was younger, had imagined his wedding to be a large party with his closest friends at his side, his beautiful wife (of which Jane had exceeded all imagination) at his right, his parents behind him, happy at his choice of companion and Loki, his brother and best man on his left. It would be a joyous occasion, more so than his coronation.

(It had never happened and his coronation had ended both bitterly and ugly).

Thor had dodged political weddings for almost two hundred years from his father, insisting that when he was married it would be because he was in love (he didn't care, not then, he just didn't want a woman to tie him to Asgard. He wanted to be free and she would restrict him) and nothing else. He had been in love with Jane, _his _Jane, _deeply. _

She was a queen among all woman, and one he was honored and humbled would accept him as a husband.

He imagined that his and his wife's wedding would be the talk for decades the joyous occasion so intense that people _couldn't_ stop speaking about it. The party would be wonderful and last for days. Loki would likely play a trick on them, simply because that was what he _does _and Frigga would insist that the wedding wasn't ready even though every detail was perfect; Odin would approve of his choice and all would be well.

Instead, Loki is dead, his mother is gone and his father would soon banish him until Jane is rotting six feet under before he returns. Sif is missing and the thought of having the Warriors Three at his wedding oddly sickens him. They are different that he remembers before he was banished, they are vile, _cruel. _They do not learn the truth of Loki's heritage, only Sif does. The Allfather does not make the knowledge public; the second prince died in dishonour once, then redeemed himself when he died for Thor. How backwards it was, because both times Loki had died _because _of Thor.

He tries to enjoy their company, but when he returns from Midgard after the battle of New York he cannot _stand _their arrogance, he distances himself, trying to _think outside of their suffocation _and then the Dark Elves happens and he has to resort to their assistance once more.

His wedding was a secret, it was quiet and no one talked of it. It is a quiet affair, Jane is beautiful, Darcy is her bridesmaid (unhappy at wearing the "big poofy dress that makes me feel like a large coconut covered marshmallow", but she takes dozens of pictures from her Stark-phone (Tony had taken one look at her phone well they were planning the wedding a look of disgust on his face before the next day a package had arrived for Darcy, a sticky note plastered on top reading: "_An upgrade, because you sorely need one, Ms. Lewis)) _and Tony is his best man. Pepper and Tony come, but Tony is the only Avenger to attend the wedding, because he is the only Avenger who _knows about it. _

(The guilt lessons, later, when he learns about Clint's family; he isn't the only person keeping large secrets like that). There is ten people total (including the staff), but Thor is happy, Jane is happy and they are married, content and joyful.

Nothing could be better than that moment. Thor will outlive her, they both know this, but he will enjoy the years he has with her. They both will.

They pass the mark of Frigga's death, then Loki's a week later. It is hard and painful, but Jane will grip his hand when his expression wanders, or she will shove a poptart in his direction and he will smile towards her fondly before they will proceed with their day. It is a blessing for her to be present in his life. How difficult it is to imagine having never known her, if it had just been a mere hundred years from now they wouldn't have even been aware of each other's presence.

They're married for nine months when Tony contacts him about the scepter and Ultron happens, he returns battered and tired (no longer the only secretly married Avenger) and the startling news as Jane throws her arms around him with joy that Jane is pregnant.

He is as thrilled as she is.

Fatherhood was something he ever thought of himself, (he'd barely thought about parenthood in his lifetime before (save when Frigga was pestering him about the fact that she needs "grandbabies, Thor, _grandbabies!" _and he and Loki would share a look of disgust), but with Jane he doesn't feel nervous, just excited and assured that she will be a wonderful mother.

They often speak of their child the next few months, debates on what gender they believe the child to be (Erik is sure it will be a female, but Darcy is set in stone about a son, Jane is hoping for a daughter, but Thor has no preference). He and Jane shift to a larger apartment, one with three bedrooms instead of the two (because Darcy lives with them, sister to Jane (if not by blood) and the thought of kicking her out makes both Thor and Jane recoil).

Thor knows he needs to search for the Infinity Stones, to figure out _why _their suddenly popping out of nothingness into sight again, the strange oddity that it is. He doesn't understand, but needs to, because this is likely not a good sign. He doesn't want to leave Jane right now, in this excitement, he knows that his quest could take months, perhaps even years to finish his search for knowledge.

So he waits, convincing himself to leave after their child is born.

Jane hits seventeen weeks and they learn that their child is a male. Jane is overjoyed, all her hopes for a daughter thrown out the window as she learns of their small little boy. They share it with Darcy who proudly proclaims she can predict the future and that they should only eat blue food for a week. Erik is disappointed it's not a female, but he is thrilled at the prospect of a grandson.

They do indeed eat blue food for a week.

Jane begins to carry a notebook around, scribbling names down whenever she thinks of one for their son and encouraging Thor to do the same. He has few ideas, but Jane's list grows progressively longer and she resorts to throwing the notebook in frustration because they "can't give their son one hundred and twenty-six different middle names!" (and she can't drop any of the names, either).

Darcy picks the notebook off the floor, flips through it her expression clouded with thought before she points down at a name declaring their son's name is Morgan; Jane is startlingly okay with this and Thor is as well.

He and Darcy paint Morgan's room a light blue, Jane sitting on the couch (forced by both himself and Darcy to not assisting) with Erik, who has become the unofficial grandfather on Jane's side in their small family.

At twenty-two weeks, Thor helps Natasha and Steve with a small mission to take out a stream of Hydra bases (which turns out to be more than they originally thought) and he comes home to a sobbing Darcy on the couch, clutching a framed photo. As he takes her into his arms, confused, but not disregarding the feelings of the girl he has come to see as a little sister, he learns with a deep punch of horror that Jane was hit by a car on her way back from a doctor's appointment and killed instantly.

Jane is gone.

Jane is…

Jane, his love, his wife..._gone _and he was not even there when it happened.

Darcy slips Jane's wedding ring into his hand before burying herself against him and they cry together. The funeral is held, but there aren't many in attendance, Jane's parents died when she was sixteen (she was never adopted, just shuffled through foster-care until she was eighteen) and no one in Thor's family will come. (Because his mother and Loki are _dead _and Odin never cared for Jane).

He finds Midgard's acts of burying their dead slightly repulsive, but he doesn't comment because he knows that it is tradition here and he doesn't want to break it.

Then Jane's coffin is lowered, taking his wife and his child with it.

He will never get to hold his child in his arms or Jane, again. He will never even know what Morgan _looks _like, will never get to show him to his father or anyone else.

He returned home with Darcy and they both grieved in an ugly silence that lasted for days. The rain fell hard and Darcy's eyes grew more haunted and finally Thor left the building in frustration (an act he will forever regret) and wandered the streets of London in an effort to clear his mind. He manages to clear some of the fog and buys a chain to put his and Jane's wedding rings around before stuffing it under his shirt.

When he returns to the apartment, Darcy is laying on the kitchen floor, gun in her right hand, blood leaking from her head. The grief from losing her sister was to much for her to handle and Thor, once again, couldn't be there for the most important women in his life. Not his wife, his mother or his surrogate sister. Now all that has to happen is for Natasha to kill over and die then Sif to follow and every female he truly cares for will be gone.

The loss from both his "daughters" snaps the last line of mental sanity in Erik, and he is admitted to a mental health facility. Thor is not allowed to visit, no matter how much he pushes.

It was just easier to deal with the grief, in the long run, to tell people that he and Jane had simply broken up. They were no longer courting (they hadn't for a year and three plus months now they were _married) _and no, he had no idea that she'd passed on, how terrible!

He felt numb.

He felt empty.

He didn't want to return to Asgard, where no one would understand his ache, where memories of Loki and Frigga would plague him and he would have to start grieving all over again. Asgard didn't know about his marriage, his child or the woman he had come to see as a sister and the man a strange sort of uncle. He just wanted to be held by Frigga. Wrapped in her arms where he could pretend it didn't hurt so much.

It did.

Oh how it did.

He wanted to be in Loki's presence, not talk to him, not really no, but just know that his younger brother was there and _alive. _The quiet rustling of turning pages and the shing as Thor sharpened a weapon.

Them. Together. Where they could both sit quietly in their broken worlds.

But Loki was dead and so was Jane.

Jane, his beautiful angel, was gone.

His love, his peace, his. Gone. When he wakes up gasping from a nightmare, his hand clenching for Jane's that's no longer there, the grief swallows him. So instead, he imagines how Frigga would have spoiled their son, how she would have given him all of Asgard if simply to appease him. She would have been overjoyed at the birth of her grandson.

He imagines the Allfather is pleased at the birth, that he too, loves the child. Thor imagines as he holds the baby for the first time in his arms awkwardly manhandling him before Frigga would laugh and scoop the child up with the gentleness of a cat looking after her kits would then rock the child.

He knows Fandral would have refused to hold him (a long standing feud between being thrown up on by young people after his younger brother expelled his stomach's contents on him in public), that Volstagg would have been thrilled, a small smile spread across Hogan's face and Sif...Sif would have given a squeal and demanded to hold him. Sif has always had a sore spot for babies, not children, babies.

He imagines that the Avengers are not so sorley split, that the closeness that they carry when they meet is constant, and that they, too, are happy to see Morgan. He can see Tony's look of confusion as the child is placed in his arms, Clint's calmness, Natasha's ease, Steve's hesitation, and Bruce's carefulness (but Bruce has been missing for over five months now, and no one has any idea where he is).

He thinks sometimes, about how Loki would have handled his son. Sometimes Loki refuses, in others he holds the babe with disgust, but the most firm illusion he creates is the one where Loki takes the child from his arms with hesitation glancing at him as if asking "am I doing it right, Thor?" and still feeling out of place. But Loki would hold his son and Darcy would lift her phone taking pictures with a smirk on her face and everything would be perfect. There with him, Jane his child, Loki and Darcy all around or on the sofa as they watch some sort of detective show by BBC (or anything, Thor doesn't care, they'd be together and happy, and safe).

Thor will never know what his son looks like.

He couldn't save Jane. He cannot even avenge her. She is dead.

So yes, he lied, they broke up, he had no idea she was dead, how could he? They hadn't seen each other in forever. Midgard became to much, so he left. He returned to the library on Asgard and found everything he could on the Infinity Stones, (it hurt, because Loki's messily loopy handwriting was on the edges of a few pages with notes) then left to find what he could.

Ragnarok happened. He will not lie that after they were not in the public square of Asgard, Thor punched Loki in the face screaming, "_How could you do this to me, again!". _Loki did not _understand _how much it hurt to lose a family member, he did not _understand _how deep the ache for death to lose it's grasp was. Loki had merely stood up, gritted his bruising jaw and stared at him for a long moment with haunted green eyes before they left for New York.

Thor has come to love Midgard as an extension of Asgard, but their ignorance and ability to believe falsehoods is ridiculous. When those two girls had asked for a picture, then left their careless remark, "_it's a shame Jane dumped you" _he had wanted to throw something at the back of their heads.

"_It was a mutual dumping" _he had said towards their backs, because she left _him _for death and he left her because he was still alive.

_This day, the next, a hundred years; it's nothing, it's a heartbeat. You'll never be ready._

He wonders if Loki even realizes how deeply true those words are.

Odin had died, the last bit of normality he had _had _and he wanted something to throttle, something to _fix _all that was going wrong, because it had been nothing but ugly for years now and _Loki _had shoved Odin there.

Then Hela had came, declaring her lineage, her _sister-_hood and Thor had switched his "_I'm going to throttle a sibling" _from Loki to _her _because only Darcy was worthy of the title "Thor's sister" and this _woman _would never be that.

He gained his brother back in exchange for his sister's life. He wishes it could have ended differently, that Hela had _not _gone crazy with rage (and it frightens him, immensely, because he realizes that Loki could have turned into that. (Loki's rage wasn't as vile, as _cruel)) _and that they could have reconciled, but they didn't, and he had let Surter go.

Having Loki back at his side helps. It helps _immensely. _He didn't realize how much he'd come to rely on his brother until Loki was no longer _there _to keep him standing upright. They are two parts of one half and neither can survive without the other. They have each other, and that's enough.

Asgard is lost, but it's people still stand, alive and well.

For the total of about a week.

Thanos tears into their hull his "children" ripping apart everything and there is only a handful of warriors left from the skirmish with Ragnarok and they put up a fight, but they lose.

Then it is only him, a battered, bruised and injured Loki, a vengeful, but defeated Hulk and a gatekeeper, with too much blood loss to stand among the dead he has fallen with.

"_I assure you brother, the sun will shine on us again." _

And then it is only him. Only Thor. The last Asgardian to live; and as he drags his broken body towards Loki's, his mind screaming "_protect!" _and "_loss!" _as he wraps his hand around Loki and buries his head into his younger sibling's chest, weeping. Loki was too young to die (barley near a thousand and a century) he's not _supposed _to die, that's Thor's job. He's supposed to protect him. His baby brother, who is gone, just like Jane, just like Frigga, and Odin, Heimdall, Valkyrie and his entire kingdom.

A king with only failure to reign over.

He can't protect his family, or his kingdom or his friends, but he is going to avenge them.

"Well if I'm wrong…" Thor's voice cracks, but he forces it to remain steady for another moment. His hands pressing together firmly, but he can still feel the rough fabric of Loki's armor and the chill of his skin underneath his fingers as Loki's skin changes from it's Asgardian illusion to it's Jotunn and this is why Thor is _sure, _why he is positive, that Loki is-

Loki is-

Dead.

Like Mother. Like Father. Jane. Darcy. Everyone.

He hasn't seen the Avengers in two years, but he knows of the Civil War for the brief time he and Loki spent on Midgard. They are fractured, not dead, but fractured and he was not there to stop it. He is only a man of "_I was pretty close, but just missed it!". _He should have been there to do _something_ to stop his family from tearing itself apart. But he didn't. So with a defeated stare from his single eye, Thor turns to the rabbit and a bitter frown plays on his face, "What more can I lose?"


	13. Chapter 15

**Author's Note: My Revengers fic that failed. Yay! **

**Characters: Loki, Thor, Bruce, Brunnhilde, Asgardians. **

**Warnings: Some depressive thoughts. **

**Written: 2019 some time. :) **

**Note: Not checked for spelling or grammar!**

* * *

Her head is pounding.

Her hands are shaking.

Her throat is dry.

And it is, in fact, probably in her best interests not to commit the murder she's currently envisioning with vivid detail. Brunnhilde releases a tight breath through her chest and forces her attention to expand out beyond the fact that her solution to this is to bang some heads against the wall, stand up and storm off. It would be both rude, and get her more looks than she really cares to gather at the moment. Not that it matters much, their eyes that don't leave no matter what she does anyway. She is a long-dead hero, here for them to gawk at again.

She's not banging some skulls.

This isn't Sakaar.

She can't do that anymore.

This is Asgard, and _here _she is required to act as something else. She isn't allowed to solve all her problems by throwing something or going after it with a big weapon. Shattering glass won't solve anything. And this isn't even a _problem, _isn't it? She's merely just frustrated and wants to _stop listening to old men whine._

Alright.

"Whining" is probably not a fitting word.

Expressing concerns over the fate of everyone present that are actually ligament is more accurate—but, still. _Mind numbing. _Her head hurts. Her hands are shaking and all she _really _wants to do is curl up in a ball of misery where no one can watch her, wrap a blanket around her pathetic heaping mass and _run. _That's all she's good at now, running away. Running and running and running until she can't _breathe_ anymore because she's trying to escape the prison she's willingly walked into. She wasn't prepared for this.

_She was not prepared for this._

_She will never be ready._

Why did she think she was ready for this? She would somehow walk back into Asgard with a cape on and suddenly she would be prepared to take up the mantle of Valkyrie again? Ha. Ha. _Ha._

"—do?" The voice snaps her back into the room, presently, and she jerks her head slightly as her focus clicks into place. Where it's supposed to be, instead of wandering off among her thoughts and remaining lost there. Which isn't something she's horribly opposed to.

She flicks her gaze up, hoping no one caught her daze, to the other occupants of the room. Eight others are seated on the chairs they could pull together (the Grandmaster doesn't exactly have a surplus of folding chairs, for the most part seating has resorted to the ground—which is nothing _she's _against, but the Asgardians haven't exactly been living in poverty for the last thousand years). Brunnhilde isn't quite certain how she got dragged into this, but here she is.

Lord Arkenson was the one who voiced the question (maybe? Brunnhilde's mind is fuzzing around the edges and when Thor introduced them about ten (fifteen?) minutes ago; so she wasn't paying _as _much attention as to ingrain the names of the six others in the room), but the details of _what _he said have been lost to her.

For the most part, the only thing that's been discussed is the "what now" situation. Brunnhilde has no recommendations, her survival skills aren't exactly the most healthy—_focus, you idiot. _She bites on her tongue heavily and stares at the floor heavily, shifting forward and clasping her hands together on her lap.

The floor is a mess.

Brunnhilde never really knew the Grandmaster to be one who _cleans, _but this is ridiculous. Dark, dirt smears skid across the floor, and it wouldn't be quite as obnoxious if the rest of it wasn't white.

Talking.

They are talking and she's supposed to be focused on that. Not how much her hands are shaking and her head hurts.

She tilts her gaze up.

"—I don't know." One of the women murmurs. "We have to get this under control—find something to help. We can't survive the rest of the journey like this. Midgard is nearly six months' time from Asgard. How will we provide for the citizens?"

Ah.

That.

Right.

No food, little water. They're flying slowly towards their impending death, and _that _is why the council meeting was called. Yes. Panic away. When her head hurts less and her stomach stops backflipping, she'll probably join them in that. At the moment, she's a little busy.

_Stop it._

Thor, who is sitting beside her, shifts uncomfortably in his seat. His hands have been flexing in and out with agitation since gathered for the meeting nearly fifteen minutes ago. The flexing is something she's assuming is a nervous habit, but she's not certain. She's known Thor for maybe eight days now; she has hardly had time to write an essay of his habits.

The men and women look considerably glum as to what the woman (Pettidottir, or Fydottir, one of them is redheaded, and the other brunette, but the for life of her, Brunnhilde can't tell them apart) said. She can't exactly blame them. Looking on the bright side hasn't exactly been the goal of the meeting. But it would be nice if they weren't determined to depress all of them to death—just a thought, and her personal opinion.

The group is what remains of King Odin's curia regis—Asgard's elite council members. Typically, it has twelve members: three women and nine men with the king and queen at the head and the king's adviser (usually a sibling or close friend) as a second in command. Today, it bares the six remaining members from Hela's skirmish, Heimdall among them; the Gatekeeper of the Realm has always been reserved a place on the curia regis—Politics was something that she had to study when she was training to become a Valkyrie.

She recognizes only one of the men from the council _she_ left behind after the slaughter of her sisters: Thor's uncle, Vili. The man was not one she particularly liked nor did she get along very well with him. He's an aggravating person who has seen the darker parts of Asgard and helped King Odin with his endeavors to change everything: because of this, she's pretty sure that's why the only things he has to say now are negative or depressing.

"Are there any outposts nearby?" Thor asks, his tone is carefully even as he looks towards where Heimdall is seated on the other side of the room between one of the two women and Lord Arkenson (maybe, could be Sir Borison, but she honestly can't remember).

She's definitely nauseous.

Why do they have to keep talking about food?

Heimdall gives a slight dip of his head in answer, "About a day's time from here."

Good. Excellent. Maybe she can find something to make her stomach stop clenching and her head stop spinning round and round and round—

"How are we to pay for it, my king?" Sir Borison (maybe Lord Arkenson) asks, his voice is thinned, "We don't carry Asgard's treasury in our pockets and this...Grandmaster did not leave much on the ship."

Beyond party supplies and a surprising amount of bedding, yeah, not really. She has been wrangled into sharing a room with Thor, Loki and Bruce (the Hulk is still running amok at the moment and Brunnhilde can't say she's to terribly disappointed about that), but she has yet to step foot in it. When she needs to sleep, she finds somewhere far away from the designated "rooms" area to hunker down for a few hours.

Hours because space does not set or rise, but the engineers have hooked a timer to the lights. Twelve hours with them brightly buzzing and ten with them dimmed. It resembles night, but it's not like living on a planet with the moon and stars to announce the arrival of darker hours. Her sleeping schedule has always been a mess, but it's gotten worse since she stepped foot on the _Statesmen._

Thor nods slightly and runs a hand through his hair, a slight wince tensing between his shoulders and his eyes tighten. Brunnhilde stares at him for a long second, confused. _Wince? _Is he in pain? As far as she's aware, he's fine beyond his missing eye. She swore to defend the crown until her death and she's held to the promise as best she can over the last few days between her aching body to keep Thor from doing anything stupid.

Loki, too, is technically thrown into the equation, but she's seen little of him since he was requested by the healers for aid, so she hasn't worried much. Even now, the prince was unable to attend the meeting because of this, despite his place at Thor's right side. Thor asked him to be his adviser and though it would have been among the _last _positions she would have given him, Loki accepted.

Thor.

Her mind is a mess.

He winced.

Where is he in pain?

"I know that Loki stole a great deal from the Grandmaster," Thor says, carefully settling his hands on his lap and flexing them again. Brunnhilde pauses for a second, processing that.

_Oh._

She hadn't really thought to question _where _all the supplies they would need to house people would come from, but Loki had apparently thought ahead. In the brief time she's known him, he's done that. It annoys her to no end. His mind doesn't seem to _stop, _buzzing around and around until he's mapped out in vivid detail everything that is to happen from today until six years from now. "But I'd have to ask him if he thought to take money."

Probably.

Wait—He stole _money_ from the Grandmaster?

_Norns _he's an _idiot._

He has a death wish, or he's a lot better of a thief than she gives him credit for.

The curia regis seems to shift uncomfortably and the other woman leans forward, long brown hair falling off her shoulders, "Should we really be trusting funds from Sakaar? It's practically nowhere— will it work as currency here? Time is disjointed around that realm, it could be far outdated."

Yes. She knows.

"The ships still run as well as Asgard's." Thor points out. Not...not exactly. The _Statesmen _runs fine at the moment, but Asgardian engineers have looked at the engines and the power sources, and from what she's seen and heard they haven't been to impressed. The fact is, is that if they don't all give out on starvation or dehydration, the ship is going to. They're kicking a dead horse into running, but, according to Korg, it was the biggest ship the Grandmaster owned.

Lord Fredilson sighs under his breath, "We're all doomed to starvation."

"Indeed." Lord Vili agrees, his eyes narrowing and the thick, bushy white eyebrows he's currently sporting making a show of hiding his lids from view completely. "If we had simply thought ahead of the consequences for what this was meant to be—it all could have been avoided."

Thor flinches visibly. Brunnhilde lifts her head to faintly scowl in the man's direction.

Negative, per usual.

There was no other way—Brunnhilde _knows _this. She watched Hela kill her sisters in less than an hour and leave their bodies to rot with her on Helheim. King Odin's contingency plan _was _for Asgard to go up with Hela; it's fate has been sealed since the firstborn's banishment.

"What's done is done," Heimdall says firmly, "we must focus on what is now. We will aim for this outpost to gather supplies—make trades if we must. We will find a way to provide for the citizens."

"But what if we can't?" Sir Borison (or Arkenson) questions, his voice is faint. "We can't give them false hope—we shouldn't, it's cruel."

"It is more cruel to leave them with none." Heimdall says firmly. "We will inquire of the prince about the funding, and we will gather what we can for trading in the meantime."

The room remains quiet, and a few awkward stares are passed between them.

"I'll talk with him," Thor offers when no one else jumps up at the prospect of it. He turns his head towards Heimdall and Brunnhilde notices something that she hadn't in the blinding lights from the ship before. Thor's face is pale and his hair is slick with sweat around the edges. He bares heavy shadows under his eyes as well. He looks ill. "Is he still with the healers?" Thor questions.

"Yes." Heimdall affirms, giving a slight dip of his head.

Thor nods once and turns to look towards the curia regis. "Is there anything else that needs to be further discussed?"

"No, my king." Lord Fredilson says. His voice is stiff.

The other members give slight shakes of their heads and Thor nods once before rising to his feet, posture slightly hunched.

Sick.

He's sick.

And he hasn't said anything.

Brunnhilde eyes him heavily for a long second before standing as well. "I'll join you," she states and Thor side glances her for a second before his lips thin and he gives a slight nod.

She glances back at the council for a final time before she and Thor exit the room, slipping into the abandoned hall adjoining it. Going left from here will lead them to the bridge where the Asgardian's typically gather during the day, but going right will lead to the sleeping chambers after a bit of navigation. Forward is where it dips to the lower levels and _that's _where they've been keeping the ill. Dehydration is starting to become a problem, even with the rationed water. The food is nearly gone, but any water that remains is nearly drained clean.

Thor begins to move forward and Brunnhilde stays at his side. They walk in silence for nearly two minutes before he tilts his head towards her. "Is there a reason that you joined me?" He questions. She wants to grind answers out about whatever it is he's sick with and she'd prefer to do it in private.

"I'm bored?" She offers.

Thor raises an eyebrow, "I have my doubts."

She rolls her eyes slightly and releases an annoyed breath before looking at him again, "Are you well?" That sounds direct. Should it be that direct?

He's holding his spine weird, that's why his posture looks so obnoxious. Chest injury?

Now he's watching her wearily. "I...I don't understand why you're inquiring about—" He starts to say, but Brunnhilde's patience gives and she lifts up a finger to jab him in the chest. Thor winces immediately and makes a pained noise, hand coming to cover the area as he smacks her arm away at the forearm with his other.

Yup, definitely a chest injury.

She lifts her gaze to his face and lifts an eyebrow.

Thor doesn't hold her eyes and bites at his tongue heavily, looking embarrassed. "I...um…" He stutters.

"_Idiot." _She bites out.

She sighs through her teeth and latches a hand around his wrist dragging him forward through the hallway. She's had more than enough time over the last few days to do a complete map out of the ship with her feet. She hasn't gotten everywhere yet, but most places she's visited or at least glanced at. As part of her training, she was required to memorize elaborate maps and pathways in and out of the palace for the protection of the royal family. It's habit now, and one that she relies heavily on.

Thor begins to shove out excuses and protests to her actions as they move, but she's ignoring him. He needs medical attention, so he's going to get it, kvetching or not.

"Valkyrie—" Thor tries again, he sounds desperate, "_please, _it is not as bad as it seems—stop, _stop, _they are busy and—"

Valkyrie.

Angry Girl.

Scrapper One-Forty-Two.

She's all titles now, isn't she?

Brunnhilde snorts and glances back at him through her braid. "I'm not dragging you off to the healers, Majesty."

He looks lost. "Then why…?"

She shakes her head slightly and sighs under her breath, pulling him forward. There's a medical closet near the Healer's Room-Hall-whatever they decided to call it that they can take things from. She was trained in medical arts when she joined the Einherjar.

Thor apparently realizes that she's not going to answer any of his questions and wisely clamps his mouth shut. She's fine with this. She's under oath to _protect _him, not talk to him.

They reach the closet (really more of a small room) and Brunnhilde opens the door and shoves Thor inside, flicking on the single light bulb. Thor staggers a few steps, but before he's regained his footing, she's shoving him onto one of the crates present for a makeshift seat.

The medical supplies is nothing they're short of. She's been through a few of the crates and otherwise messy piles since they arrived here and there is more than plenty for future and current injuries. Tonics, potions, bandages, pretty much anything she could think of—but no healing stones. Not that she really was _looking _for any, but they aren't present. It's something only native to Asgard that only reacts _with _Asgard's atmosphere, so even now they would be useless. But still, she has come to rely on other methods beyond the enchanted rocks. Like rags, water, and gauze.

Loki probably took all of this, too.

Thor mentioned he was late when they were on the Bifrost.

This, along with the rest of his thievery, is likely why.

If only he'd assumed they would be in space for more than a few days, perhaps the panic as they run out of necessities to sustain life would be less. She forces herself from her head and clenches her shaking hands into fists, turning to look back at Thor for a second as she gathers supplies she's assuming she'll need.

"Alright, shirt off." She commands.

Thor hesitates. He looks like he would rather have his leg being chewed on by a wyvern than speak with her. She feels about the same. If he didn't look so ill, she would let this slide and only bring it up again if he collapsed. And isn't that terrible? If her commanding officer could see her now...what shame she would feel.

Brunnhilde's a mess that helped destroy the land of her ancestors_, _broke her oath to never drink of alcoholic beverages, sold both _princes of Asgard _into _slavery—_even if Loki managed to win his freedom by defeating the Grandmaster's chosen victim—and now she couldn't care less if either of them were to abruptly kick the bucket.

Alright.

Yes, that's a lie, but she should care _more._

She took up Dragonfang again and pledged her life to Thor's throne, but now she doesn't know how to go about _doing _that. Or if she can. She's not fit for this anymore. The woman who left Asgard to stop Princess Hela's release with her sisters is not the one who stands in this small closet trying desperately not to vomit.

Who is she supposed to be now?

Her hands won't stop shaking.

She feels sick.

A clenched tightness in her chest that doesn't go away or ease with time.

Sick and sick and _sick._

_Focus. _Thor. Injured. _She needs to do something about that. _"Off." Brunnhilde repeats, her voice is pinched but she could care less. She looks back at Thor, "I need to check the gaping wound your hiding, so _off._"

He stares at her pleadingly, but her resolve refuses to waver. His jaw clenches firmly with discomfort before he moves to start undoing the latches of the armor he's been wearing for four days straight. No, longer; he wasn't given a change of clothing on Sakaar save the one he was allowed to fight Hulk in. Eight days now, then?

Only very few of them have any spare clothing and it's going to start showing _and_ smelling soon. Brunnhilde is not among that lucky group. She lived in her ship and _that's _on Sakaar, and the clothing she left on the Grandmaster's celebration of birth ship is with the rubble of Asgard. She has the undergarments of her armor (a black shirt and pants) and that's it.

She blows out a breath as she watches Thor fumble, but doesn't take a step forward to assist.

Thor carefully sheds his armor, wincing and Brunnhilde can see him biting at his tongue every few seconds. His pain tolerance is something to be noted—she, too, has been slammed by Hulk and it is _nothing _to laugh over—but it doesn't seem to be helping him any here. The shirt he's wearing was _likely _a deep gray at some point, but it's splotched with deep stains in some areas that Brunnhilde can see an effort was made into washing them out, but it didn't help.

After a second, he carefully pulls the clothing away from his skin. She nearly drops the supplies with surprise. His chest is a mess of bandages swinging back and forth from one edge to another, but some of it is stained with pus or blood. She thought maybe a single wound—that would be it. A long gash or something. Norns she was not expecting this.

Brunnhilde swears, loudly.

Thor looks up at her, blue eyes wide. In the dim lighting of the single bulb, his face looks anxious.

She shakes her head as she leans forward and pulls of some of the stained bandages, seeing the broken, raw and blistered wounds. There a mess across his torso from multiple blades; in a few areas, it's stitched together, but the threading is sloppy and they're the worst of the infection. The damage is not nearly as bad as it should be, blood clotting appears to have happened and the damage to the tissue doesn't seem to severe which reassures her that he _is _healing, but it's not at the speed it should be. Brunnhilde doesn't think it will be possible to avoid scarring. They aren't close enough to Asgard for that anymore.

His healing factor, like hers, is probably much weaker the farther away they are from Asgard. They need more food consumption for the effects to be magnified to the point they are—_were—_were on Asgard. Brunnhilde has spent a great chunk of her existence away from Asgard (whether on errands for the king or Sakaar), but with food intake she's managed to keep her healing factor up to speed. She imagines that all of them are feeling the effects of Asgard's natural filling of this stripped away suddenly. She isn't. She was on Asgard for less than two hours before it was ripped from the cosmos.

_When did this happen?_

She looks up at Thor as she begins to unwind the messy bandages. "What happened?" She demands. He looks like he fell into one of the frozen ice streams on Jotunheim. She has seen effects of such, it's not pretty.

He looks at her, but he seems slightly dazed.

"_Thor." _She presses.

"Hela." Thor girts out between clenched teeth. Brunnhilde's lips thin tightly.

_Oh._

She releases a breath out through her nose, trying to remain calm. "This was three days ago, Majesty," she says slowly, tossing the bandages to the side, "how much worse was it then?"

Thor looks abruptly uncomfortable.

He should.

She's going to kill him. Then Hela again. Maybe she'll kill Hela again first, _then _Thor.

"Only six healers survived from the palace," Thor says at last, though his voice is very quiet, "I...I am not as important as everyone else. It will heal on its own given time."

She blinks at him, startled. Why is…? He's serious. Of _course _he's serious. Stupid, selfless _idiot. _Brunnhilde cusses again and shakes her head with disbelief. "You're daft, Majesty."

Thor looks at her, but his expression is more confused than offended, "What?"

She sighs and leans forward, plucking a rag from the medical supplies and grabs the water canister at her hip—the small ration that she's been given for the day—and dumps a generous amount onto the rag. She can go thirsty, it's nothing she hasn't done before. Her throat already feels like it's on fire, so this can't be much different.

Her hands are still shaking and the water tips out with less control than she wanted.

"Valkyrie—" Thor starts with disapproval. She doesn't care. It's not his water, it's _her's _and she's not the one who has at least eight stab wounds on his chest with a variety of bruising elsewhere. Hulk, she's assuming, is the culprit behind that. Why didn't anyone think to ask Thor about being wounded, she _saw _him get stabbed on the bridge by his sister and said _nothing. _Why didn't _she _think to ask about it before now?

She presses the cloth against his wounds and wipes the worst of the blood and yellowing infection from it. She cleans his torso as much as she can and, after smearing some of the antibiotics on the worst of the wounds over the stitching, she covers them with bandages tightly and sits down next to him, releasing a breath. She caps the bottle shut that's mostly empty now—save perhaps a small handful—and wipes her hands on her pants.

Thor awkwardly pull his shirt on over his chest again, but doesn't move to pick up the armor. He looks strangely vulnerable without it. Smaller. Norns, he is so much younger than she first thought. They had just celebrated his birth when Hela attempted her escape. She never saw the christening, but given the rough estimation of time from then to now, he must be somewhere along the lines of exactly Midgardian mid-twenties. Younger, likely. Twenty-three?

She tilts her head up towards him. "Does Loki know?"

Thor tenses, closes his eye, then shakes his head. "No."

No one would blame her if she throttled him. "...Did anyone before me?"

Another shake, but this time it's mute. Brunnhilde leans forward and rests her aching head in her shaking hands. She was not prepared to deal with this today. She doesn't know a time when she _would _be, but right now, she just...she feels young and helpless again.

"Valkyrie," Thor's voice is hesitant, "did...did I anger you?"

What?

Anger.

She's always angry. Yes. He did anger her.

She looks up at him between her fingers, "Yeah." She runs her hands across her face, suddenly exhausted. "You look awful. When was the last time you slept?"

"Sakaar." Thor admits with a slight shrug.

She stares at him incredulously.

How the bloody—this is fine. Fine. It's all fine. She whacks his arm with frustration and he looks towards her face. "That's it." She declares, her patience has slipped and Thor keeps dancing on it's grave. It was never excessively large to begin with, but she can feel the frays slipping between her fingers and she can't get them to clench tight enough.

"Get up, you're going to bed." She says, rising to her feet.

"But, Loki—" Thor tries. She lifts up a hand, cutting him off. Right. That. Money. Location. She can ask him, it doesn't _have _to come from Thor.

"Shut up."

"But—"

"_Shut up." _She avers firmly, "I'll take care of it. Now, I can drag you there or you can walk."

Thor pauses for a second and looks like he's actually debating it before he sighs and rises to his feet. "Right. You'll tell me of the results?"

"When you wake up." She assures. "C'mon, Majesty."

000o000

They're almost to the sleeping quarters when she nearly rams face first into Bruce. She rocks on her heels, tilting away from her toes as Bruce scrambles backwards, surprise evident in his expression. His hair is a bit of a mess and there's a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, but he looks otherwise fine. Brunnhilde has been keeping slight tabs on the Hulk, but from her understanding he was mostly following Thor around.

They were teammates on Midgard, from what she's put together.

"Bruce!" Thor exclaims, his expression is alight with surprise and jublicance. "It's good to see you!"

"Yeah! Hey." Bruce agrees, looking strangely out of place. His hands keep shuffling awkwardly towards the sleeves of his long shirt. It looks like an Asgardian robe, but where it came from is a different story. Bruce looks between them for a second before his shoulders slump with relief. "You have no idea how glad I am to see you." He reassures.

Thor moves forward and gives him a quick embrace though she notes that he's careful with his torso. He's been doing it for days, and _now _she notices? Some Valkyrie she is.

"How are you?" Thor questions.

"A little tired, mostly hungry." Bruce admits with a slight shrug. "Heimdall found me and explained...about it. I'm sorry about Asgard, Thor." He says sincerely. "I wish we could have found something else to stop your crazy sister."

Thor's expression grows tight for a second—but it's so brief she half wonders if she imagined it. "Yes. Well. What happened happened and there is no need to dwell on the past."

_Asgard is a place, not a people._

More fidgeting with the sleeves. Bruce nods, "All the same, though. I...um, I've been looking for you."

Brunnhilde shifts her position slightly, folding her arms across her chest and leaning into her hip so she can watch their expressions a little better.

"What can I do for you?" Thor's energy is a facade.

"Hulk. Hulk wanted…" Bruce pauses, then rewords with: "He smelled blood on you and—yeah. He couldn't do anything about it, but I'm a doctor so, um," he shrugs awkwardly. Brunnhilde's shoulders slump with relief and she quietly thanks anyone listening as she gives Thor a shove towards the Midgardian.

"Great. Put him to bed." She commands, "I already checked him over and cleaned what I could."

Bruce looks surprised and helps steady Thor from the imbalance, his gaze resting on her. She forces herself to remain calm under his gaze despite her itching urge to run. She wants out of their stares.

Away from Thor, so she doesn't have to be reminded constantly of her failure.

She wants _out._

_Away._

"I'm going to go talk with Lackey." Brunnhilde says quickly. Before either have time to argue, she turns on her heel and walks away; but, in honestly, it should have been labeled as "bolting".

000o000

The medical room smells as she was expecting: antiseptic and stale. Neither helps the nausea spinning in her stomach.

The walls are a faint orange with white trim wrapped around the top as a border, but it still feels bare and lifeless. Lights are buzzing from the ceiling at their full capacity, giving a gritty feeling to the room, which in turn adds to the lifelessness. Despite this obnoxious lighting, it doesn't seem to be enough for the healers. She can spot some magical shards floating through the air acting as smaller, more focused bulbs of light. It's unpleasant. The room is large, but feels smaller from the people littered across the floor.

Many of the people are adults, but she spots a few sickly children towards the edges being gently caressed by either their parents or one of the healers. There are whispered conversations being spoken between the ill, but none seem able to raise their voices loud enough for the sound to be pulsing. There are no cots, no mattresses, nothing but the cold, barren ground and a thin blanket for the ill and injured.

It reminds her of a battlefield of fallen warriors, and Brunnhilde flicks her gaze away. She processes this in about three seconds before taking another step into the room, keeping a steady hand against the doorframe for support. She feels eyes flick up to her, and does her best to ignore it, searching among the sea of heads for Loki's dark hair with little success.

A young woman with straight, but messy, blonde hair materializes beside her suddenly and Brunnhilde nearly jumps. _Bloody sorcerers._

"Can I help you?" She asks, expression furrowed as she stares Brunnhilde over with a professional gaze. She's looking for injuries. This _is _a medical bay, Brunnhilde doesn't really have any other reasons to be in here unless she's sick or dying. But she's neither. The girl's accent is thick, she was likely born in the upper class of Serenity, the capital. Those from further out in the outskirts, usually beyond Speckle Point and the Whitewashed Cliffs have a thinner drawl. At least, it was the last time she was there.

Everything is so different, but hardly seems to have changed.

Brunnhilde forces herself to stay present, then draws herself together. "I'm looking for Loki."

The woman's brow draws together tighter, "The prince? Last I heard he was helping Erei with Idrissa's daughter." She makes a move take a few steps away, but Brunnhilde clasps her upper arm, stopping her. She hasn't been in this room, she has no idea where Idrissa is, or even _who _she is. The only Asgardians she _knows _are few, and she's barely been acquaintances with them for more than a few days.

Brunnhilde's lips thin and she nods, "Where would that be?"

The woman's face flushes with embarrassment for a second, "Oh, sorry; it is over there," the woman gestures towards their left where Brunnhilde, after some angling with her head, can see the familiar raven head. She nods her thanks and releases the healer, moving across the room quietly and quickly as to avoid waking anyone who is resting. But no one really appears to be sleeping and their eyes follow her.

She can't say she's fond of it.

Brunnhilde gnaws on her inner cheek tightly and reaches Loki after a few more paces. He's sitting on the ground cross legged, hand resting on a small girl's forehead. His eyes are closed as he breathes rhythmically. Across from him an, older woman is beside a younger one who has the girl's hand between her own. The older woman—Erei, was it?—is conversing quietly with the mother as Loki...does whatever it is he's doing.

Sorcery's not her forte.

In her youth, it was considered shameful for warriors to learn it, so Brunnhilde never did.

Guessing by Thor and Loki's fighting styles, that particular way of thinking changed, or at least _laxed _during her absence.

Erei looks up at her and her gaze briefly flickers with surprise, before dipping in respect, "My lady," she addresses. Loki's expression twitches, but he doesn't look up at her. The mother's eyes rise and she locks with Brunnhilde's gaze. After a second, her eyes flicks to the white lies on her face and recognition sparks.

"Y-You're the last Valkyrie." She says, her words stuttered. Do people have to keep reminding her of that?

"Yeah." She grits between her teeth. _Be nice. _She quietly chastises herself.

"What can we do for you, my lady?" Erei questions.

"I need to speak with Lack-Loki," she corrects herself mid sentence, "when will he be done with...that?" She gestures lamely in the prince's direction and Erei's eyebrows lift with slight amusement. Brunnhilde stifles a gnawing sensation of embarrassment that roots itself in her stomach. Why do people expect you to know everything when they admire you? She's an idiot when it comes to sorcery, alright, why can't they accept that and move on? She hates this demeaning attitude.

Erei faintly smiles, "He's putting her in a healing trance for a few days," she explains, "I can take over, it is time that he takes a break, anyway." Erei sends an exasperated look in the raven haired man's direction before turning to the mother, "Fli will be fine; the wound is healing neatly, even now."

The mother's hand tightens around her daughter's, "I know, I know—but she's all I have now and I—I—" Tears threaten to spill and Brunnhilde is momentarily paralyzed. What on the _Nine _is she supposed to do if the mother breaks out into hysterical sobs? The only people she's good at comforting are those she _knows _and that's with a broom in hand from several feet away as she pats them on the shoulder with the bristles.

Erei rests a hand on her shoulder with sympathy, "I understand. I feel the same over my husband, rest easy." Erei releases a breath and rests a hand on the girl, Fli's forehead. After a second she turns towards Loki, "My prince," she murmurs, "I am taking over now."

Erei's eyes slip shut and her body relaxes abruptly as Loki jerks forward with a jolt. His head whips up and his green eyes open as he fumbles with his fingers looking as if for all rights he was tossed into the ocean and can't tell which way is up. After a few hissed breaths, he settles and glances at Erei for a moment, then the mother, then appears to realize that she's standing on his right.

He turns his head towards her and his eyebrows flicker with something she doesn't understand. Surprise? Frustration? Brunnhilde's lips thin and she suddenly realizes how much she doesn't want to be in here.

"What?" Loki's voice is thin.

"I need to speak with you." She says, forcing her gaze to remain on him, unlike the way it would much rather wander away. She clenches her twitching hands at her sides.

"On?" Loki presses.

By the Norns, can't he just agree and they can be done with this?

"Thor sent me." She answers; not really, she volunteered, but what difference does it make? She has no desire to go bubbling out the fact that they're all set for an impending doom in a few days into a _sickbay. _These people need hope and a _reason _to get better. The information she has won't provide that.

Loki's lips thin tightly for a second before he releases out a breath and tilts his head back to the mother. Unlike the clear frustration in his gaze when he looked at _her, _when he turns to the mother he's all smiles and laughter. "I apologize Missi; I'll return as soon as I can."

Missi nods her thanks and Loki smiles once more at her before rising to his feet. His heels grind heavily into the floor, looking as if he's trying to keep himself from toppling over face first, and it's not really a pleasant thought.

She buries her shaking fingers next to her legs and attempts to throw the headache into the back of her mind. Loki turns towards her and Brunnhilde thins her lips before turning around and walking towards the exit. Loki's footsteps are quiet as they follow her.

When they've slipped from the stares of the sick-people and out of the room, Brunnhilde doesn't stop. She guides him several more paces down the hallway before turning, then pauses. In the bright, almost painful lights of the medical bay, it's really hard to _see _anything, but here, in the dimmer lighting Brunnhilde can make out Loki's features with more ease. Loki looks exhausted. His eyes are rimmed, his hair is a mess, but tucked back into a ponytail that's falling apart. He's wearing the same green shirt and pants since the last time that she saw him, which was Thor's "coronation" several days ago.

Not much of a crowning.

At least, not by Asgardian standards.

Loki's eyes narrow as he stares at her for a second, something flickering in his gaze. He's quiet for a moment longer before wetting his chapped lips and asking, "What was it that my brother wanted?"

That. Right. _Focus. _Her head is spinning. Round and round and round it goes.

_Stand still._

She digs her fingernails into her palms and the sensation is painful, but offers the settling she wanted.

"The curia regis meeting." Brunnhilde blurts, her mind suddenly connecting the dots between the two of them. She quietly curses her headache and continues before Loki can say something to make her feel worse: "We discussed what needs to happen—how we're going to survive and all that—in an admittedly less than positive point of view, but I'm not one to judge. Summarization: we're running out of food."

They have three more days if they're _lucky._

Loki's breath escapes him slightly and he presses a hand against his temples, "I know."

"Heimdall said there's a trading post about a day from here. We need money. Thor wants to know if you thought to steal any when you escaped Sakaar." Brunnhilde finishes, then looks at him expectantly. Loki's eyebrows rise with slight surprise.

"Yes, I did," Loki says and Brunnhilde _feels_ something in her chest release with relief. "Everything I could grab from the Grandmaster's slave fighting," his voice is hollow, "the rest I left for the citizens who still remained."

Wait. _What? _Brunnhilde blinks at him, then asks slowly: "You stole the Grandmaster's fortune?" It's nothing to laugh at, she's _seen _it. How much of it Loki managed to commandeer, she's uncertain.

Loki looks flustered, "I didn't exactly have time to go running around collecting a beggars income. I took what was _there _and left."

Brunnhilde lifts up her hands in defense, "I'm not complaining. I'm actually a little impressed." She admits, if with reluctance. Loki stares at her as if she's grown a fifth limb from her forehead. Brunnhilde ignores it the best she can. "Where is this great stash stored? I need to tell the curia regis about it."

And, if she can, catch a few hours of sleep. Her headache is getting to the point of unbearable again.

"In the lower levels. It's in containers marked as "science equipment", it was the only empty space." Loki explains.

Brunnhilde nods and her stomach flips violently. She barely represses the urge to lean over and heave her insides to an exterior level or release a loud moan of discomfort. She clenches her shaking hands at her sides and forces herself to stay focused.

It's a simple thing, playing messenger, _why can't she do this?_

Loki's staring at her oddly again.

She hates it when he stares at her.

Why does he have to have one of those stupid stares that can parse a soul apart?

Brunnhilde nods and smacks her lips together, "Right then, I guess I'll be off." She makes a move to step forward, but stops at Loki's question: "Are you ill?"

_Yes._

_Yes. Help me. She can't do this anymore. Her head is pounding, her stomach is spinning and her limbs keep twitching._

_Help me._

_Yes._

_She needs assistance and she can't—_

"No." She says firmly, "I'm not sick, Lackey, I'm _busy." _She takes a step forward, but Loki steps in front of her and stares at her face.

"You're pale."

"And you're not?" Brunnhilde hisses.

Loki doesn't mask his irritation, but nonetheless plows forward: "Your hands are shaking, and you have a headache if your continuous squinting is anything to go by."

Great. He's been staring at her. Has _anyone_ the politeness to avoid gawking at her? "_It isn't your concern." _She bites. She doesn't want to deal with this. She doesn't have the _time. _She's finally being useful again and now Loki isn't even letting her do _that—_

"Valkyrie." Loki's voice is firm, "I am just trying to—"

_Her name is Brunnhilde._

"You're not my bloody mother," she growls, "so get _off." _She violently pushes him away from her. Loki staggers several steps, expression suddenly wary. She flexes her fingers in and out and tries to will her feet forward, but they aren't going anywhere productive. Or anywhere _at all. _Move. _Move._

Loki's watching her as if he's afraid she's going to hit him, but he isn't tense in a running position.

She forces herself to breathe, if raggedly.

She's not going to hit him, even though she _really, really _wants to.

The prince's eyes are wary, and she releases a deep breath through her teeth, then forces herself to meet them. "Lower levels, science equipment," she repeats, looking at him for confirmation. After an initial hesitation, Loki offers it with a curt nod.

Brunnhilde nods and walks away from the dark-haired man, trying her best to quell guilt.

She hasn't found much success by the time she finds the curia regis.

000o000

The last time he can remember his lungs feeling this compressed with anxiety was several years ago. The Avengers had been living together in the tower for almost four months before Clint plopped down beside him one morning, chewing halfheartedly on an apple and said that he needed to get a pilot's license for the Quinjet. He'd stared at the archer for a long moment with disbelief, but nonetheless found himself at the controls a week later, Clint at his side. The panic had arrived when Clint had left him in charge. Driving a car is _not _like flying an airplane and he'd spent the entire flight trying not to throw up, crash, or disappoint his teammate when he _did _succumb to the inevitable a panic attack.

That panic is not unlike his current.

He has had to learn to control his emotions over the last several years for fear of releasing his other half, and though it has helped in the past, it doesn't take the edge off of his current spiral. The anxiety is pressing against his lungs, squished between his sternum and his collarbones making it impossible to breathe deep enough.

Bruce has never actually slammed someone over the head with a shovel before, but the urge is getting quite tempting. Just grab the handle, tense the muscles and give a good, hard swing to the back of the messy blond locks. Problem solved and he can walk away in peace. Unfortunately, he has his doubts it will do much other than mildly irritate the receiver of his swing; Asgardians are like that.

He's been working in the medical field for over fifteen years now, and has long since come to the realization that patients can be difficult, but when people who you _know _are patients, it's even worse.

The Avengers would often bring injuries to him all the time after missions or from stupid stunts. All of them were awful as patients. It was annoying to no end because he just wanted them to _sit still _and do nothing, but they wouldn't listen and he'd end up throwing his hands up in the air with frustration and declaring that he's done.

Thor was no different.

And he still isn't.

Bruce only has a basic overview of the ship from what Heimdall told him—and when he briefly got lost looking for his teammate—so his navigation isn't at its best, something he isn't to partial on. When he lived in New York, he knew the streets around the Tower like he does the periodic table of elements; he rarely gets lost. This is different, and it isn't helping anything.

It takes them likely double the amount of time it should have to find their shared sleeping quarters and Bruce struggles for a moment with the keypad that acts as a lock before they can enter. Space is complicated, he has come to realize with growing concern and despair. Space is _very _complicated.

The room is small and dark, smelling faintly of dust with a side of burning hair.

It's not exactly pleasant.

Bruce bites back a reflexive gag as Thor stumbles forward and slams his hand along the wall, looking for a light switch of some sort. The room has no windows, and it's pitch black save the steady hall light slowly streaming into the space.

His hand is only met by the cold steal of paint, unable to find anything that feels remotely like a light switch, or a dial-like-thing that Bruce saw on the ship they commandeered from Sakaar on their way to Asgard. He bites back slight embarrassment and tugs the long sleeves of his borrowed clothing over his fingers. "Ah, Thor," he questions, trying to catch the Asgardian's attention.

After a second, Thor looks back at him expectantly. Bruce gestures vaguely towards the wall, "Is there a light in here or…?" He trails off awkwardly. Thor's head flicks to the ceiling and Bruce follows his gaze. A bulb. Thor is looking for a bulb. _Of course. _He should have done that first, _idiot._

"No," Thor says after a second, "no, I don't think so."

Great.

Bruce sighs and steps out of the doorway, spotting a faintly glowing ring he assumes opens the door from this side. The small space doesn't look as if anyone has stepped foot in it, which isn't a great sign. They've been here for three (four?) days now, and _four _people, including himself, are supposed to share this. Have _none _of them have been in here since the _Statesmen _left Asgard?

Bruce flicks his gaze across the space once more. After a second or so, he spots the silhouette of bedding piled on the floor. Blankets and a few small pillows. It isn't much, admittedly, but he's grateful there's even _that. _They could have less. Bruce has slept on less before.

He sighs under his breath and shifts forward, "You should sleep." He says to his teammate. Thor looks back at him for a second, expression thinned.

"But I have to—"

Bruce lifts up a hand, then gestures to the bedding with his other. "It wasn't a request." Thor hesitates and Bruce shakes his head. What he would give for something to knock him unconscious. "Thor," he says gently, "please. You're sick."

"My father—" Thor tries again, but Bruce grabs his shoulder and steers him towards the bedding, kneeling down to grab one of the blankets. He spreads it out and shoves Thor towards the ground with little effort, a true sign of how exhausted the blond must be. Thor's tense muscles release and Bruce swings the blanket from off of his shoulders, handing it to the Asgardian.

"I wish we had access to Stark Medical," Bruce admits, "I could be more helpful."

Thor looks up at him and Bruce can't help when his gaze lingers on Thor's missing eye. He has no idea how it happened, or _when_ beyond the fact that it was somewhere in the Bifrost battle. He has seen Thor walk away from explosions and only had the edge of his cape mildly charred, and something took his _eye._

It rouses a protective frustration in him, and Hulk.

"You've done enough," Thor assures, his tone is quieter. "Valkyrie nearly took my head off when she learned. Thank you for not doing that."

He's seen enough hidden injuries between his teammates he is, unfortunately, used to it.

Bruce nods, "Of course, I'll leave so you can sleep." The words "_tell Jarvis if you need something" _are on the edge of his tongue, but he swallows them with effort. He is not at Avengers Tower anymore, and Jarvis is dead. Habit. He's spent too much time in Stark Medical.

Bruce lingers for a moment longer before quietly exiting the room, leaving Thor alone in the pitch-black space.

He egresses into the hall and turns to the left, intent on finding food. Heimdall's conversation had been brief, but thoroughly detailed; the Asgardian is clearly experienced with giving only the necessities. A ration is wrapped around food, but he doesn't care. He'll eat anything they can give him. His stomach is twisting aggressively with pain. It's what happens after a Hulk-out: he typically sleeps for ten or more hours straight, consumes half a fridge, then feels uncomfortably tight in his skin for days to follow.

He hasn't had the opportunity to sleep yet, so he can feel his bodies' sluggishness, and the growing discomfort with his skin is prominent. Anxiety is poking through these with a hot rod and throwing it to the side as if it doesn't matter. He hates this. He knows _one _person on this ship personally, and there's only a handful he knows _of_, but one of them attempted his murder, the other _Hulk _knows, and Heimdall is someone that Thor has spoken of briefly.

Thor doesn't talk about Asgard.

At least, he didn't when Bruce lived with them, things could have changed over the time he was missing. Whenever anyone would bring up the subject, he would clamp and direct the conversation so off of the topic with ease it wasn't hard to see the regal training slipping through. He was more than happy to detail about other Realms, just never launch into such excitement when Asgard was addressed.

There's also the fact that he's been away from Earth for _years. _Tony, if Steve doesn't beat him to it, is going to tear his head from his shoulders with frustration when they arrive. However long that takes. He has no idea how many light years away Asgard is from Earth, he didn't think to ask. They could be in this small ship with it's recycled air and stale taste of despair for _years._

And the thought horrifies him.

Bruce hates being in a cage; captivity makes him anxious (and Hulk thrives on such emotions). A cage is still a cage no matter how big it is. The _Statesmen _is supposed to be their salvation, but it doesn't feel like that. Not to him.

He is very alone here.

Bruce sighs through his teeth and plows forward through the quiet hallway. Despite his initial trouble with finding the sleeping quarters, he reaches the main deck with minimal difficulty. People are scattered across the room in small gatherings, talking quietly or sleeping and Bruce is fairly certain he can see an attempt at school going on in a corner.

He has no idea where to go from here. He can't spot any familiar faces, and he digs his fingernails into the edges of his sleeves sharply at it. People are staring, and he wishes they would stop. He takes a few steps forward and scans across the room, looking for a space to hunker so he can watch what others are doing before attempting to mimic them.

He could just _ask, _but he doesn't want to intrude.

Or seem stupid.

When he finds a place to settle, he's left alone. The Asgardian's watch him from afar, but no one makes any attempts to speak with him. This is fine. Bruce doesn't want to talk with anyone anyway. He's not even sure what he would say—sense Thor has been meager with details on Asgard, he's pretty helpless as to their culture differences. He could say something offensive without meaning to or accidentally declare war on something or—yeah, he's grateful they aren't trying to talk with him.

Bruce remains here for a while, long enough that the Asgardians stop staring and return to their normal tasks, seeming to ignore his existence completely. Bruce begins to daze slightly, flexing his fingers in and out as he tries to quell the discomfort of his stretched skin. It's thin and uncomfortable, nothing unusual, all it lacks is the typical burning heat the follows. He's not disappointed at it's absence.

A figure is in front of him, suddenly, and Bruce whips his head up, startled. Hulk buzzes in the back of his mind, drawing more present at his discomfort.

In front of him is Loki, green eyes sharp and calculating as he plays with some sort of writing utensil between his left hand's fingers. Bruce never heard him approach, and neither did Hulk, who is now wary and quietly murmuring in the back of his mind. _Shh._

Bruce swallows and tries to bury his disconcertment, but he doesn't have much success. Loki's eyes are shadowed and his clothing is rumbled, but he looks far healthier than Bruce remembers him being on Earth. Still, though, Bruce doesn't want to get tugged into some sort of murder-plot, or be a victim, so he leans back as far as he's able along the wall, trying to bury his unease. Judging from Loki's expression, he isn't very successful.

Loki watches him for another moment, then sighs briskly. "What are you doing?"

Bruce stares at him. Hiding, admittedly, but he doesn't exactly want to go blurting that out to _Loki. _"I...um…" Bruce stutters, drawing his hands closer to his torso. "It's…" _What is it? _What is he trying to _say? _"Thor is sleeping," he ejaculates, "and I didn't want to bother him, but I didn't know where else to go and…" he trails, trying to scramble enough words together to finish the sentence properly. Nothing is coming to mind. "Yeah." He concludes, mentally wincing.

Loki's shoulders relax a slight amount, but it might just have been him shifting his position. Bruce isn't sure, Loki is not an open person with his body language and his face is an empty sheet of paper, this is unlike the Avengers were. Even Natasha and Clint were easier to read, to an extent, after Bruce got to know them better. His stomach gives a painful tug at the reminder of his team and he forces it to the side.

"You're hiding." Loki states plainly, sweeping up Bruce's jumbled sentences into something unambiguous.

Bruce tenses at the words and rubs at the back of his neck. "Um…"

"Don't bother with excuses," Loki says before Bruce can come up with any probable ones, "your face says everything."

Bruce thins his lips and tries to clear his expression, but the most he does is make his eyebrows join across his brow, furthering his anxiety into being obvious. Ugh.

Loki gives a slight shake of his head, and Bruce snaps his jaw shut before staring up at Loki's face when he commands: "Move; you're atop the water jugs."

What?

Since when?

Bruce flicks his gaze down to the crate he's perched on, then quickly scrambles to his feet, embarrassed._ Ah man_. He's been here for _hours_ and no one mentioned to him that..._great. _He is helpless when it comes to these matters, and it makes him want to smack his forehead against something very hard. Everything is scribbled out in Asgardian text; he had _no idea _what it said. He wouldn't have taken up that as a hiding place if he knew and—

The Asgardians were staring at him.

Not because he's _him, _but because he unintentionally blocked supply to their water.

_Perfect._

Bruce is fairly certain that his face is tinged so he ducks his head, but Loki isn't looking at him anymore. As soon as Bruce shifted, Loki moves to pull the lid off of gray container. There's a level of tightness in Loki's movements, but he grabs one of the small water-bottle looking things from within the confines of the space, then firmly presses down on the lid to the large crate. It clicks into place a moment later.

Loki turns to him and Bruce averts his gaze, but he can still feel the stare.

"You look ill." He says thinly, after a moment. Bruce whips his head up towards the dark-haired Asgardian for a second, flabbergasted. Did Loki just inquire about his _health?_

"What?" Bruce questions in surprise, then runs the words around his head again, "I'm not sick."

Loki's hand draws back and his eyebrows lift slightly, "You are dehydrated at least."

And he knows this _how?_

Bruce's lips draw together thinly and Loki releases a quiet breath along with a stream of words in his native tongue before shoving the water bottle towards his chest. Bruce takes it on instinct to keep it from clattering against the ground and makes a noise of protest, "I can't take from this—" He starts to argue, but Loki is already digging another from the container and shoots him a look. _Bruce isn't __Asgardian. It's not his to have._

"Take it. Everyone is given one per day. I'm assuming you haven't found the food, yet, yes?" He questions and spins his fingers over the top of the second water bottle. It vanishes from view and Bruce nearly drops the water bottle with surprise. He _knows _that magic exists, he lived with a man who wielded lightning from a _hammer _for years, but that was just normal. This...isn't. He's never seen a portray of sorcery like this. It seems so fluid, easy, and natural.

He wants to understand it, but he has no desire to prod.

Loki stands in front of him stiffly, a thin silver package between his fingers that's outstretched to him. Bruce pauses, then looks up at him with slight surprise. Loki's expression is clear of anything helpful, and Bruce hesitates before reaching his hand forward to take the package from him.

Loki's expression clouds with minor irritation. "I've done nothing to it," he assures, "if I wanted you dead, Bruce, you _would_ be."

This doesn't instill him with any confidence.

Hulk rumbles quietly in the back of his mind, offering Loki a warning.

Bruce grips the package tightly and gives a slight nod, "Yeah, um, thanks."

Loki nods and gyrates, before pausing to look back at him, "You're a healer, yes?"

On a technical term, no, he isn't. He was nearly finished with his training to become a trauma surgeon while getting a degree in general medics when his professor recommended him to a scientific course. He took up gamma radiation a few months later and didn't look back. So no, he doesn't have an "official" degree in medicine, but he has practiced it enough recently—but it's _not _recently because it's been _two years—_that he feels fairly confident in his abilities.

Bruce shifts his feet, "Um, sort of, I don't have an official paper or anything, but, yeah."

Loki eyes him for a second, "If you could offer aid in the medical bay it wouldn't be unwelcomed, the other healers are exhausted."

Loki looks that way to, but Bruce doesn't say as much.

"I don't know much about Asgardian psychology." Bruce admits, "Thor never really needed me to put him back together." Thor has had as many scrapes, bruises, and broken bones as the rest of him, but he's always healed quickly and Bruce has never had to worry extensively over him.

Loki's lips thin tightly, "Yes, well, we aren't asking you to perform surgery." Loki hesitates on the last word as if not familiar with it. "If you could spare at least spare moment," he avers, then tilts his head forward again and promptly walks back towards the crowd.

They part for him silently, though Bruce can see a number of lingering stares. Some look soft while others are hard.

Bruce knows enough from Thor's half hearted ramblings of complaint in Stark Medical to know that Asgardian healing is based mostly off of magic. He doesn't have any; Loki must know this. Why wouldn't he? Nonetheless, he requested Bruce's help.

Why is Bruce stopping?

He _can _help with this.

He's a doctor.

_There's a twist in his chest, a ache in his stomach, and he doesn't understand why—_He needs to offer aid in order to be useful here, and the medical side of things might be the only one he can _do _anything with.

Bruce lingers for a second longer before he readjusts his grip on the foodstuffs and quickly takes off after the dark-haired Asgardian.


	14. Chapter 16

**Author's Note: Snippet that went absolutely no where, but, meh, I think it had potential. Hard to tell. **

**Characters: Loki**

**Warnings: None**

**Written: 2017 some time. :)**

**Note: Not checked for spelling or grammar!**

* * *

In hindsight, it probably would have been better if he hadn't accepted the offer.

Loki lets out a long, rather dramatic groan as he looks up at the stars blurring in his vision. The sky is _remarkably_ blue today, he notes offhandedly to himself as he lays on the ground limbs aching as he attempts to breathe properly again.

His ribs hurt, his head hurts and the sky is still shining annoyingly down on him, like nothing had gone wrong and Moa hadn't tossed him.

His fingers dig into the dirt curling as another wave of pain crashes through him. It really shouldn't have been so bad, getting tossed from Moa always left him breathless, (stupidly tall mare) but in the forest hitting a tree is always a possibility and with his incredible luck, Loki had done just that.

And to think, this morning his biggest concern was if he could make it through his almost two thousand paged book before the end of the day and still have time for another.

But Thor had been persistent and Loki had come to the realization that unless he accepted the offer to go riding with his obnoxious older brother he wasn't going to leave him be. And so, here he was laying on the ground because Thor had spooked Moa (on purpose-which is a _very, very, very, _hard thing to do-Loki knows, he's tried many times) and Loki had been tossed.

Even now, he can hear Thor's loud laughter ringing in the back of his head like a pounding hammer to his skull.

He's going to strangle Thor, then give his body to a snake to feed on for centuries.

Loki scowls at the happy blue sky again before slowly shoving his hands against the rough dirt and pushing himself into a sitting position. Thor is still laughing from atop his stallion, Victory and Loki glares at him darkly. "That," he begins his voice dark and hissing, "Was in no way _funny." _

Thor responds with a large smile, "I found it quite humorous actually, brother."

Loki gives him a deadpan look before raising his hand and waving it left. The magic works without fault and Thor goes flying off of Victory in a very un-princely manner his legs sticking up and his obnoxious red cape he's so fond of covering his face.

Loki snickers and gets to his feet moving towards Moa. The dark mare is still glaring at Thor from his prank in a rather dark way. Loki rests a hand on her face, "At least let me _help _you murder him." Loki says both glancing at the crown prince.

Thor waves his cape off of his face and gives Loki a small scowl. "I would really prefer if you didn't."


	15. Withering Away Deletedalternate scenes

**Author's Note: Someone remarked how they wanted to read Loki and Frigga's conversation in Withering Away and I was like, oh yeah, I did write th****at, but cut it out for the sake of length. This is my compilation of deleted/alternate scenes from Withering Away. Of which I regret to say I did _not _find the Loki and Frigga scene. I searched and searched, but I don't think I put it inside the "Junk" document and just deleted it. My apologies. I really did hope to find it. I can't even remember the details of it anymore...I'm kind of second guessing whether or not I just planned it, instead of writing. I don't know.**

**Anyway, good luck navigating this mess. I tried to put it in chronological order, but...**

**Also, yes, I am aware that words are not spelled right, the plot sucks, and grammar is a mess. This was in the junk document for a reason. This is 100% rough draft, and I'm more than humiliated by most of it. XD **

**Disclaimer: Nope. **

* * *

[EVERYTHING IS POST CHAPTER 1]

[Post Chapter 1, this was the original chapter 2:]

Loki slips from his grip at the force of the pull immediately, but the Tesseract remains clutched tightly in his right hand. His grip tight enough he's mildly afraid, somewhere in the calmer regions of his mind, that, should he press any harder, he'll shatter glass.

He's not stupid enough to test fate again.

Thor squeezes it harder.

He's learned his lesson with being lax. (He _hopes _he's learned his lesson). He won't lose the Stone. Not when they're so close to accomplishing their goal. Not when he can prove that he's not such a failure and _fix _the whole mess he started.

Loki doesn't find nearly the success with landing on his feet as Thor does. His younger brother immediately topples to his knees, heaving, dark hair a mess around his face as he tries-considerably-not to throw up. Thor doesn't drop the Tesseract, but he does squat next to the younger after a moment.

He hesitantly reaches a hand out to rest on Loki's shoulder for assurance. (_Is this real? Is he dreaming? Loki has been dead for so long now, and this can't be real). _Loki hardly seems to acknowledge his presence, a hand coming up to claw at his chest as he gasps.

Sympathy swirls through him.

"Thor…" Loki's voice is thin when he's finally managed to gain his breath back, "what on _Helheim-?"_

Thor's gaze flicks up, Loki stopping mid-question at the sound and sight of the other Avengers falling into view beside them. Most with varying degrees of balance, but none outright topple like Loki did, however it's fairly obvious that the speed they return from is dizzying.

Thor has little desire to repeat this again.

But he has to. He's the only one who can get the Aether.

The energy surges of the Infinity Stones roll towards him with gentle prods, and the sensation of their power makes him want to physically draw back. He thinks that the human's process it as a numbness in their senses-almost like a drug-but he, and anyone else who has a sensitivity to sedir, feels surges of their strength. It makes something within him hum with contentment and a desire for _more. _It terrifies him.

He isn't the Titan.

He doesn't lust after this.

No. Just-_No._

Thor keeps a hand rooted on Loki's shoulder and does a quick, desperate headcount. Tony, Steve, and Bruce (who never left) are all here. Scott, Rhodes, the Rabbit, Clint, Nebula, and-Thor scans the group again, trying to find Natasha. His stomach does something funny, a mixture between a scream and a horrified drop as he doesn't spot the master assassin among the group.

She's not here.

_She's not here._

_No. Thor can't-not her. _Please. Please. Please.

Thor sees Steve's gaze follow the same headcount, and his eyes widen a little. He visibly fidgets, turning to the archer. "Clint. Where's Nat?"

Clint's expression says everything. It's opened, gutted raw with agony, and it makes Thor's chest heave with the desire to scream. No. After _all _their _other _losses, why can't fate be merciful to them, _once, _and allow them this? Allow the Avengers to stay together? Natasha is the only thing that's kept everyone from falling apart these last five years. He knows from the brief, rare phone calls they shared.

She was the only one, save the random text from Steve, that kept in contact with him after he didn't go for the head. After everything and now she's-_no. _She can't-_not dead. Not dead. Not dead. Please, he can't-_

A cold hand squeezes his, and Thor's gaze flicks down as he tries not to jump. Loki. Loki is _here _and he's still _alive. _His head as tilted up a little, and though his green eyes are rapidly searching over everything and trying to parse it, it calms him to know that his younger brother is still aware of him.

(It also makes him sick. How could he be so ignorant of his brother for so long? How could he have wasted so much time on Asgard treating him lesser and not _caring _that Loki was his shadow? Why has Loki always been the better brother between them? _Fail-_).

"Clint," Tony's voice sounds both exhausted and barely a contained shout.

"She's not coming back." Clint manages to grit between his teeth. "He took her. He took her and she's not-" his voice cracks. He turns his head away, refusing to meet their eyes, "she jumped so I wouldn't have to."

What?

What _jumping?_

Who would-_Oh. _The Soul Stone. Natasha and Clint were sent to gather the Soul Stone, and it demands a price for it's deeds. Thor didn't care much to learn deeply of it when he went on his two year stint to try and find them, more concerned on the ones he could locate easily, but he knows that there was a price. Natasha's _life_ was that price.

Thor _hates _these Stones.

"Alright," Steve's voice is deceptively level as his gaze travels across them again, "we're just going to have to mana-_what the-!_?" Steve doesn't quite rear back-but it's close-as his gaze lingers on Thor again, and, ergo, his sibling. Steve's shield lifts in defense, his entire posture seizing as the rest of the Avengers and Guardians do the same. Loki's eyes briefly close with something that looks like exhaustion, and Thor can't blame him. Not really. Loki _just _came from the long brutal battle for their people, Thor walked away from it five _years _ago. There's little he can do to help his sibling get the rest he needs.

Thor's fingers strain for Stormbreaker should the need arise (_he's not watching Loki die-or be injured for that matter-again!)_, but he doesn't feel the familiar lull of the weapon awaiting his call. There's simply a void, and the cut is almost as serving as Mjolnir's destruction was. His face drains of color. _No. No, no-Forbannelser._

Thor left Stormbreaker on the _Statesmen. _He doesn't have a weapon.

"You actually did it," Tony's voice is blank, and Thor _hates _it. He hates it when Tony collapses like this, because that means that he's furious, but trying not to show it openingly. "I didn't think you were serious."

He would never say something like _that _for humor! (_He doesn't really _say _much anymore, anyway). _He wisely keeps this thought private.

Loki rises to his feet, somehow managing to outwardly gather himself together in the fluid movement. Thor can't. Not that simply. He's still a jumbled mess and he's not even sure where to _begin _to garner the pieces together. Thor lifts himself up as well, keeping the death grip on the Tesseract prominent. There's no need to, not now, but if he lets it go, he fears he'll fall apart.

Bruce has moved away from the controls, his stance wary.

Every eye is lingering on them, and Thor shrinks beneath the attention.

Loki smooths a messy piece of dark hair away from his face, and doesn't quite smile, "You're all looking well. Some new Midgardian health secret I should be aware of?"

Thor sees Nebula's hand go to her sword, and Scott visibly flinches. Tony takes a step forward, his hand shaking with anger. "No. _No. _Don't you start, Psychopath-" Thor makes a noise in the back of his throat, "-don't you _dare _make this about you. We just lost a sister, and if you _think _that this is somehow about you, _stick it."_

Loki draws back a little. "It wasn't my intention to stall you from your grief."

Tony smiles bitterly, "Right. You're empathetic like that."

His younger brother's head tilts a little, as if debating, "I would say it safe to assume, Stark, that _you don't know me._"

Tony snorts, "Because there's _that _much complexity." Loki smiles a little, and Thor nearly winces. What was he thinking? He could arrive back with Loki on _Midgard _and somehow it would solve everything? That the Avengers would be perfectly alright with it? It stings a little to realize that the only reason they agreed in the first place was because they thought that he was going to fail.

He bites back a groan. Norns know how _this was a terrible idea. _The Avengers are going to kill Loki or Loki _them _before they can reverse the snap.

"Tony," Steve rests a hand on his teammate's shoulder, and the multi-billionaire deflates visibly, but he's blinking rapidly. His eyes are wet. The anger is still there, but Thor can see the grief more prominent. Shouldn't he feel something like that? The desire to cry with Natasha's death? He doesn't feel much of anything.

Steve turns to him, and Thor finally notices the briefcase in one hand and can pick out the distinct energy signature of the Mind Stone within it. Rocket is gripping the Time Stone in one paw, but his gaze keeps flicking between Thor and Loki, his other paw on his weapon. Actually, now that Thor's looking for it, _everyone _has a hand on their weapon except for him and his brother.

This was a mistake.

Did Thor bring his brother here only for him to be murdered in cold blood again?

Steve breaks the distance between them and lifts out a hand. He looks like he's trying really hard not to look towards on left where Loki is. "Thor, give me the Tesseract. You and Rocket need to get the Aether before we can get anywhere."

Oh. Yes. That. Right. It...right. Thor is not prepared to go back to Asgard. He's not...he's not sure if he _can. _He's the reason that it burned to the ground, he caused Ragnarok and got his people stranded as refugees for the rest of their lives. Midgard will only tolerate them for so long before they kick them off to fend for themselves. It's in men's nature. Thor has seen it happen again and again throughout their history.

How can he go back to Asgard, and not _stay _there?

"I don't mean to interject," Loki's voice is smooth, but it breaks Thor from his revere all the same. Loki's gaze is mostly focused on him, but it is flitting in the direction of the multiple Infinity Stones in the room. Thor knows that he can sense their power as well, probably more distinctly than Thor can with his official sedir training. Even at his lower sensitivity, it's distracting. "But what on the Norn's name is going on?"

The Rabbit's ears perk a little and his hand lifts from his weapon, "Oh. So you didn't tell him?"

Thor latches onto his tongue with his teeth and his face heats a little. No. He didn't. There wasn't enough time to explain, and he was more focused on Loki's fate as an individual, not what happened to everyone else. At that time, beyond the Tesseract, it wasn't important.

Thor chances a glance towards his sibling's face, and opens his mouth to explain, but words have escaped him. No. Not now! He needs to explain this, but he can't get anything to come out beside a huff of air. Loki's eyes are studying him, and Thor sees a brief flicker of confusion flicker across his expression.

_Out. Come out. Words. Why can't he speak?_

Steve apparently catches onto his sudden mute spell, and tilts his head towards Loki, "Do you know of Thanos?"

Loki's face is impassive; he picks at his palm a little, "He just slaughtered half my people, Captain."

Steve nods, "Alright. He wiped out half the universe with the Infinity Stones. We're trying to reverse that by collecting the Stones again."

Loki's mouth parts a little and he inhales sharply, eyes rapidly moving across the room again. Thor is almost expecting an excessively long exclamation, but all Loki does is make a soundless "oh".

The Tesseract. Steve wanted the Tesseract. Thor slowly lifts up his hand and Steve raises his to take the cube from him. The tingling in his hands immediately seize, and Thor is relieved. That energy source is a murdererer, and it has no idea the amount of innocents it's slaughtered. It gambles for life like a toy, and Thor _hates _it. It took Loki. Twice. And it took Asgard.

Steve's expression tightens a little as he manhandles it, but he gives a brief nod of thanks and moves away, setting the briefcase and the Tesseract on the small table that Clint put the Soul Stone down on sometime in the last few minutes. "Bruce, can you set the time...vortex back to the date that Thor gave you earlier?" Steve questions.

Bruce nods, already moving towards the machine. Thor resists the urge to insist that he's not ready.

"Guys, it's a time machine. Just call it a time machine." Scott folds his arms across his chest with irritation. His expression is tired. They all look tired. He can sense the same exhaustion on his face.

"He's got a point," Rhodes notes.

"I'll get to it," Bruce assures, ignoring the two. "It should be ready to go in about two minutes." Bruce hesitates before moving forward any further, "Steve, what...what are we going to do about Nat?"

The rest of the Avengers visibly tighten at the reminder and Thor's mind cries out with loss again. He doesn't want to think on this. No one was supposed to die on the retrieval, no one was supposed to die _period. _Natasha insisted that they'd see each other in a minute.

Thor doesn't even know where her body is.

"I…" Steve looks at a loss.

"We'll bring her back," Tony presses, "when we snap. We'll bring her back, then."

Clint's head lowers. Loki huffs loudly and all heads turn towards him for an explanation. Loki's still picking at his palm, and Thor resists the urge to whack his hands apart. He knows from past experience that it will only make his brother irritable.

Loki doesn't say a thing in answer to the silent question, but it seems to be enough to snap the tension in the room so sharply Thor wouldn't have been surprised if it cracked. Clint swears and crosses the distance between them, "Do you think this is funny?"

Loki's mouth parts, but Clint forcefully shoves him back. Loki staggers a little, and Thor reaches out a hand to steady him, sending Clint a warning look. "_Shut. Up!" _Clint demands, "I hate you. Oh, I could run you through and not feel a thing. I'd _enjoy _it. You'd deserve it. I heard what Thanos did to you the first time, and I'm sorry that Thor pulled you out."

Something near physical hits his stomach.

"Fantasizing about murder, my hawk?" Loki's voice is soft, "I think we best leave the homicidal scheming to me."

Clint's expression tightens, and Thor shifts a shade closer to his sibling. Not with the intent of protection, but to _protect. _"Scheming? You don't _do _scheming! Your invasion plan was squat. We could have stopped it in our sleep, and you claim to be some sort of genius? No. Your pathetic, and you _know _it."

_Stop it!_

"Clint-" Bruce's voice is hard.

"Shut it! It's Loki's fault that she's dead. We wouldn't have had to deal with this whole, stupid mess if _HE _hadn't publically, and loudly came down to Earth to announce his presence _with a stupid Infinity Stone _in his hand." He turns back to Loki, "Natasha is _dead _and it's _your fault, psychopath!"_

Clint's hand makes a move to slam against Loki's face, but Thor catches it before it make contact. Loki staggers back a step despite this, but Thor's hardly paying attention anymore. He twists Clint's arm, halting the force and the possibility of Clint trying again. Rage is burning through his blood and clouding his vision.

How _dare _he?

_None _of this is Loki's fault! How _dare _Clint pin the blame on him?

"_Shut it." _It's the first words that Thor's spoken to him properly in months, but the archer doesn't seem to really care. He twists out of Thor's grip.

"No-_you _stop this! If you had just _gone for the head, _then none of this would have happened, and my partner would still be alive and we-"

Thor flinches, air escaping him in a tight heave.

The head.

He should have gone for the head, and he didn't, and he made this whole mess and the Tesseract was supposed to fix it, but now it's made it bad again, and all of this is bad, and there was...and Thor is still _so alone _and he can't do this by himself anymore. He's to tired. He's had enough. Everyone hates him because-

The head.

_Why didn't he-!?_

Clint shoves him, and then grips his shoulders, rattling him back and forth. It makes something in his stomach clench with extreme discomfort, but he holds steady as best he can. He can't bring himself pull away. "I hate both of you! I hate _Asgard_-it ruined _everything. _If you had never stepped foot here and stopped treating Midgard like your rubbish bin, then Nat would still be alive, and Laura and my kids and-and-and you killed _everyone _and you're not even _sorry_-"

"Clint, please," Thor's voice is small.

He's going to throw up.

His breath is coming out thinned. His hands are shaking.

He can't breathe.

_The head. Why didn't he go for the-!?_

Clint's still babbling out words of panic, and Thor knows that he's not supposed to take them seriously, because when Clint slips into anxiety attacks his mouth opens and everything he says can be discounted as a chaotic mess. They're not supposed to take his speech as truth, but it still _hurts._

Clint shoves him again, but rather than nearly topple over, a hand presses against his back and keeps him steady. Loki's hands grab at Clint's forearms, forcefully tearing them away. "_Get _your hands _off of my brother." _Loki's voice is flat, but Thor can hear the undertone of fury.

Clint's entire posture has seized, and his face has gone white. The open panic has turned to horror. "Let me go," his voice is barely above a whisper.

Loki doesn't, and Clint squirms in the grip.

"Reindeer Games, release the man, or we'll shoot you full of holes." Tony's voice is behind his suit, and Thor looks up to see weapons drawn towards them. He's made a bigger mess of a colossal mess for being _selfish _and not letting Loki rest in peace, and now he's going to get him killed _again, _but this time it will be by those who are supposed to be his...not friends or teammates (he's failed them to much for it), but acquaintances.

Loki drops Clint's forearms like they've burned him, but he doesn't shift from the defensive position he's taken up in front of Thor. Thor's not even sure if his younger brother is aware he's doing it, but shame ripples through him all the same.

_He's _the older sibling, it's his job to look after _Loki._

It's not supposed to be the other way around. (But how often it is and has been).

Clint scrambles back, and Steve takes a position in front of him. From the corner of his eye, he sees Loki's gaze flit towards the briefcase on the table beside the other Infinity Stones. Thor's breath catches in his throat. The scepter. The scepter is _there _and Loki _knows _it's there. If he takes it, he can have everyone subdued as puppets in under a minute.

They may have their weapons, but Loki has his _sedir. _Against it, they're nothing. (And Thor doesn't know if he'd be able to get Loki to stop, or become a part of the collateral damage as his brother escapes).

The silence is thick before Loki laughs a little, causing Thor to flinch. The sound is bitter and dry.

Steve's gaze flicks towards Tony, uncertain.

"If we're done sizing each other up, my brother and I, I think, need to have a chat," Loki's hand wraps around his wrist, but two of his fingers are digging uncomfortably into his skin. Loki's palm is cold, and Thor resists the urge to twitch as it maintains contact.

Loki pulls him forward, towards the edge of the platform.

"Wait, no, stop-" Steve commands, and rushes towards them. Loki draws away sharply. "You can't leave right now. Thor still has to get the Aether."

Loki chortles, "If Thanos had the Infinity Stones, then the Reality Stone is destroyed, Captain."

_How does he know that? _None of them suspected that Thanos would destroy the gauntlet after he balanced the universe. Thor knows that Loki _knew _Thanos to an extent, but whether it was a fleeting passing, or something else, Thor isn't certain. Beyond his few spat words in Thor's direction in 2012, Thor hasn't heard a word of anything else that happened when he fell into the Void.

He can't even remember Loki's exact _words _anymore. It wasn't important at the time, and Thor hasn't thought about it in years. Why should he have? Loki offered no clues that they were significant; he mouthed off to everyone else during that time with far more chatter than Thor had been accustomed to then. Loki had always been on the quieter side until he came back from the Void.

"Not how we're looking," Steve promises, snapping Thor back into attention, "can it wait a minute? And I _really _mean a minute because Tony figured out a way to get this to work that fast and-"

"No." Loki assures flatly.

"Loki," Thor whispers softly, he's supposed to fix this. He can't shirk _now. _He'll make up for his mistake, for his _failure _and then he and Loki can recompense. Talk, whatever, because they'll have _time. _Thor will have expiated himself.

"No," Loki repeats, dragging Thor forward another step. "Let's quid pro quo-If you can spare us five minutes, I'll tell you how you can get your precious Widow back."

The room silences, and Thor feels his jaw slide open a little. It...she...how..._what? _Before anyone can come up with anything coherent, Loki has dragged him off of the platform properly, opposite the side of Bruce, and is pulling him away from the large garage-converted-time-machine-area.

They exit the room without anyone trying to stop them, and Loki's posture slumps a little, his freehand coming up to press against his chest. The ribs. Loki's ribs are broken and-Thor forgot in between everything else. What if space-time-whatever-they're-calling-it did something worse to the damage? Thor didn't even think of how it would effect injury.

Loki stares at the long hallway and blows out a slight breath. "I have no idea where we are." Loki admits, his voice a little quiet.

Thor's gaze flickers towards him with confusion. But-no, he wouldn't, would he? Loki didn't visit Midgard between his attack (that Thor knows of) and Ragnarok. He doesn't know about the Avengers Compound-well, he _might_, but he hasn't stepped foot in it before.

Thor opens his mouth to answer, but nothing but a little noise in the back of his throat comes out. He snaps his jaw shut and turn his head away from Loki sharply, humiliated. Curse his inane _voice!_

Loki doesn't push and they take a few more steps forward before Loki grabs at the nearest door and shoves it open. He shoves Thor inside and pulls it closed behind them, managing to find the lightswitch with minimal difficulty. The light immediately turns on and Thor's eyes scan over the familiar area, biting sharply at inner gums. This is Wanda's room. She preferred being closer to the exits, though Thor never knew her well enough to determine why. He's odd on and off visits between Ultron and Ragnarok didn't offer a great deal of time for anything but a basic aquantenince to perform between them.

Still, though, it feels strangely disrespectful to be in here.

Most of the items have been boxed and shoved into one corner and the furniture has blankets thrown over it. Thor can place this as the Witch's from the origami lamps and figures hanging from the ceiling. She was obsessed with it. She taught Thor how to make a swan, but the details have been lost to him.

Loki's gaze sweeps across the room before he grabs the chair in front of the desk and drags it out, shoving Thor towards it. Loki takes a seat on top of the desk as his face flinches with discomfort, a hand coming to press against his ribs again.

"Brother," Loki starts with some trepidation, "I don't...what _happened?" _To much to explain in a five minute period, yet so little that he could. Thor clears his throat, trying to get his tongue to work properly, but it, per usual now, remains tangled. Loki waits patiently for nearly twenty seconds before he shakes his head a little. "What happened to your voice? Did someone-You're barely said a word since we got back here."

Thor shrugs helplessly.

If he knew, he'd have fixed it by now.

Loki's eyes briefly close and he appears to gather himself, "Alright. I assure you that we'll fix this later, but we don't have the time right now. I doubt that your Avengers will be terribly lenient on the time frame." Half the universe's fate hangs in the balance. Thor would say they have reason to be. "Nonetheless," Loki shifts a little, pushing down heavily on one of his fingers and his hand flexes with discomfort. He's setting the bones and trying to not be obvious about it. Thor decides not to point this out.

"Just nod or shake your head," Loki instructs, and Thor feels relief cascade through him. Very few people have tried to be sympathetic this...this _weakness, _and most simply say they'll try later, or ignore him. Brunnhilde is really the only one who actively get frustrated or angry with him about it. Loki's gaze flicks towards the door for a moment, and then turns back to him. "Thanos...the Titan, did he..._take _your ability to articulate?"

Thor shakes his head no.

Loki's stance slumps a little, "Good. Are Asgard's survivors well?"

Thor nods.

"Am I dead in this timeline?"

Thor hesitates, before slowly giving an affirmative nod. Loki releases a soft breath, setting another bone in his hand and Thor tries not to wince. "You're gathering the Infinity Stones...and Thanos already snapped, which means he's already destroyed them, so how-no wait," Loki pauses, worrying his lip with his teeth as he attempts to figure out how to ask his question in a way that can be answered in yes or no. "The Captain had the scepter," Loki notes out loud and Thor tries not to uncomfortable that Loki knows that, but he can't help the slight worry that buzzes in the back of his mind anyway.

Taking Loki into a room with five of the six Infinity Stones was probably not the best idea, honestly. Any time that Loki has been near one has resulted in-no, he's not going to finish that thought. He's _not _pinning blame on Loki for the deaths. He's _not._

"But the scepter was destroyed with the creation of Stark's...thing," Loki waves his hands, "the homicidal machine, and the one that pretended itself a man." Loki must have noticed his startled look and shakes his head sighing, "Thor, Asgard left _two _Infinity Stones on Midgard when you took the Tesseract and me back to Asgard. I was king for four years, I kept an eye on them in a effort to plan a way to remove them discreetly. Thanos would have slaughtered them in droves if he arrived to take either."

Oh.

Thor had...he knows that Asgard was perfectly aware that Loki was their king for at least a year before he arrived (he's heard from multiple Aesir of such, and he knows that Loki did so intentionally), but he didn't really think much else of what Loki _did _when he ruled. It...hadn't occurred to him to wonder.

Loki waves a hand, pulling him back to the present, "_You _collected me from the _Statesmen, _and if I'm dead here and the Good Captain has the scepter, then that means that he got it _before _the kill machine...but that would _also _indicate...that…" Loki stares at him looking utterly flabbergasted as something occurs to him, and then drops his head into one of his hands, "Oh, you _morans. _You broke the laws of time to collect the Stones, didn't you?"

What else were they supposed to do!? Let _trillions _lay in an unjust resting place? Thor doesn't even know if any were granted passage into Valhalla or not. Thor's tongue untangles suddenly, "It was the only thing that would _work."_

Loki startles at his voice, and looks up at him. "Brother, I-" he stops, and releases a harsh breath, "fine. _Fine. _Let me make sure I understand: Your plan is collect the Stones, use them to bring the dead back, and then...what? _Return _them to the time you stole them and hope that no one noticed they went missing?"

Thor makes a face. It sounds a lot stupider out loud, but it might just be Loki's skeptical tone. "Yes, that was pretty much it." Thor admits.

Loki's eyes flick towards the ceiling in irritation, muttering a choice word under his breath, "Well...I-Thor," Loki's eyebrows furrow suddenly, and he flicks his gaze towards him, "I know of at least _seven _separate times that the Tesseract is easier accessible than the _Statesmen. _Why would you choose _then _of all times?"

"I could save you on the _Statesmen_," Thor says simply. Loki's eyes widen and the rapid flexing of his broken-healed? Thor's not sure-hand stops. The shock stings a little. Does Loki really think that Thor _wouldn't _take the opportunity to save him if he could?

Loki's lips part to say something, but the door opens and Bruce pokes his head in, "Hi, sorry, Thor," he addresses, and Thor resists the urge to scowl. "The machine is ready, you need to go. The sooner we can get this over with, the better. All we need is the Aether and we're done. You'll be back in less than a minute."

A minute of _this _time, he could be on Asgard for hours.

Thor rises to his feet, and Loki slides off the desk, "I'm coming," he reassures. Bruce nods, and chances a hesitant glance towards Loki, who says nothing. The scientist pulls out of the room, but leaves the door open and walks down the hall.

Thor moves forward, but Loki's hand grabs his shoulder. He pauses, and looks back, "You're going back to the time of the convergence? With Miss Foster?" His voice is tight.

Jane. _Jane. _He-doesn't want to think about her. The wound has lessened with time, but it's still sharp. She was taken in the snap, so he never got the opportunity to apologize for the mess he made of their relationship.

Thor nods, and then realizes what Loki is _actually _asking. He lifts a hand to grip Loki's fingers, "Brother, I can't take Mother with me."

"Why not? You took me." Loki challenges, his tone desperate, "She dies that day, slaughtered like a pig for a banquet. We can-"

""_We"?" _Thor interrupts, "There isn't a "we" in this. You're not going with me."

Loki draws back a little, stance heated, "I'm not asking for _permission._ You pulled me back into this, and I'm not going to idly fret with my hair as you run through time and hope you don't make a mess of things. I can-"

"_No." _Thor argues.

"Thor-"

"No, as you're _King, _I command you to stand down. You have at least five broken ribs, a few fingers, and likely other injuries you're hiding. You were just in a war, I'm not going to let you run around on Asgard with that!"

"How to you expect to subdue Miss Foster without me?" Loki demands sharply, "_Woo _her with your good looks and charm hoping that she doesn't notice when you pull an _Infinity Stone _from her blood?" Loki snorts a little, "Good luck with that."

Thor's fists clench, "What would you have us do, then?"

"I have sedir, Brother," Loki reminds, "I can put her in a sleeping trance _and _hide you from the guards. Malekith will be starting his attack then, and you'll never get out through the chaos."

"We don't have to," Thor argues, lifting up his hand to wave the time-watch in Loki's face, "This will pull us out at any time."

Loki smacks his hand down, "Enough. I'm coming. Accept that."

"No." Thor argues. Loki's hands raise with some irritation.

"For the love of-I'm not going to run off. I'm not daft, I understand the pressing need of this."

"It has nothing to do with that!" Thor hisses heatedly, he knows that his voice is raising, but he can't quite quell it.

"Then _what-!?"_

Thor grabs Loki's upper arms tightly, "I can't protect you!" He bites at the tip of his tongue, and pleads with his voice's captor to wait a moment longer as he feels his throat closing. "You have been dead for _five years, _Loki. I thought-" he squeezes his eyes shut, "that I'd never see you again, and now you're _here _and _alive. _I know that you don't _need _the protection, but please grant me the peace of knowing that you're safe as I finish this."

Loki is quiet.

Thor sighs, before admitting lowly with reluctance: "I need to atone for what I did. I'm the reason that Thanos succeeded in the first place. I didn't...I didn't go for the head. I'm sorry, Loki, but please just wait here until I return."

Loki sighs with defeat, "Fine."

Thor squeezes Loki's shoulders with relief, resisting the absurd urge to draw him into a hug. "Thank you, Brother."

Loki wiggles from his grip, "You best be on with it before your Avengers drag you," he warns, and Thor's lips press together at the reminder. Yes. That. Will Loki be okay here while Thor is gone? It's less than a minute in this time, but still.

Loki can take care of himself. Thor is merely fretting. Stupidly fretting.

The two of them exit Wanda's room at last, and walk down the hall side by side in silence. Thor can't think of anything to say, and Loki doesn't look like he wants to speak. Thor presses his lips together tightly and tries to remind himself that it's just a minute, and he can deal with this when he gets back. His voice has been stolen, again, though, and Thor doesn't know if he can get it to relent this time.

But Loki did bring up a point. How are they supposed to _silently _take the Aether from Jane if she's awake? Malekith managed, but he was using sedir, not some extraction device that Rocket says has a twelve percent chance of actually working. Tony couldn't come up with anything better, and their combined efforts didn't help much.

This is a mess.

If he'd just-

No. He doesn't have time for that right now.

Thor sighs under his breath and steps into the garage. The other Avengers are still waiting, though Thor realizes that Nebula and Rhodes are missing. Rocket shoulders a large gun over his shoulder, "You ready Sparkly-Butt?"

Thor nods, the absence of Stormbreaker once again evident. He can't believe he left it on the _Statesmen. _He and Loki fought, and then Thor never picked it up again. _Stupid._

Rocket hums, and his gaze lingers on Loki for a moment before he gives a jerky wave, "Well. Okay. See you, Thor's brother. Avengers."

Thor and Rocket slip up the steps to stand on the platform, but he pauses as he sees Tony slip in front of Loki. "You had your five minutes. Quid pro quo, remember? We did something for you; how do we get Nat back?"

Thor shares a quick glance with Rocket to confirm that the Guardian can wait just a moment. If Loki knows _any way _to reverse what the Soul Stone did, Thor will gladly take it. He doesn't care the cost.

Loki shifts his weight from his right side and folds his arms across his chest. "What I know of the Soul Stone is admittedly limited. Asgard has-had it's resources, but most of what I learned of it came from a place I don't feel inclined to share. A soul for a soul is what I've heard, but what I _know _is that Agent Romanov gave her soul for the Stone. But this isn't the first time the trade has been done, Stark."

And that-

The Soul Stone has been traded for before...but if that _is _the case, then the Stone has to go back to whatever hole it crawled out of to _make_ the trade again, otherwise it _should _have been running around the universe like the other five. Natasha and Gamora's lives were given for the Stone, but they couldn't have done that unless the Stone was returned.

"What are you saying?" Clint's voice is barely above a breath.

Loki's gaze flicks to the archer for a moment before returning to Tony, "I'm saying that you have to bargain for her soul again. She was traded for the Stone, you have to trade the Stone for her."

Clint presses the back of his hand against his mouth. Thor's breath catches in his chest. They can still save Natasha. They can still bring her back. She's not dead. Not _really. They can still fix this._

"What do we have to do?" Steve questions.

Loki shakes his head and shrugs a little, "I'm uncertain. I've never traded for it before, and the only person I suspect has is on Alfheim. Rotting, I should add, he's been dead for over two centuries." Loki rubs at his forehead as if trying to keep back a headache, "Thirst for knowledge satisfied? You've made a mess of time and broken the laws of Yggdrasil, but who am I to judge?"

Steve's stance shifts a little, "Do you know anything else about the Stone?"

"No," Loki promises, "but even if I did, why would I tell you?"

"Okay, girls calm down," Scott prompts, "we need to get the Aether and chatting is kind of delaying that. Thor, Rocket, you should leave."

Thor shifts back into attention and nods, glancing at the rabbit again. He gives a small jerk of his head, and Thor raises his hand towards the time-watch, catching Loki's eye for a second. It's just a minute here. It's just a minute. What's the worst that can happen in a minute?

Thor twists the watch and sees Rocket do the same. The space suit spreads across his frame, and Bruce presses something on the control key and he and Rocket are jerked backwards through space and time.

* * *

They land on Asgard, track down Jane's quarters with minimal difficulty and Thor stands outside of the door with sweaty hands and a wildly beating heart. He should have let Loki come because this would have been so much easier to have Jane simply be unconscious instead of having to _talk _to her and-

_You do not belong here._

-and runs smack face-first in someone. Thor stumbles backwards in a dazed panic and grabs at the arms of the other person to steady them, apologies bubbling out of his throat. He should have been _looking, _Norns curse it all, because now he's possibly compromised the mission entirely and-

"Thor?"

Oh _Norns._

Thor's hands snap away from his mother entirely, and his senses buzz deeply in distress as his chest heaves with open panic. _Oh, Norns, norns, norns-_he broke the laws of time. Loki would have flat out _murdered _him on the spot if he was with them.

His mother is _right here _and-

"Son? What's of the matter? I thought that you…" Frigga trails, and then stops as her gaze settles on his face. He's never been terribly self conscious of the eye-patch before, but suddenly he wishes he hadn't thrown out Rocket's offering of an eye in the midst of a dazed panic.

"I'm, uhm," Thor stutters out, and then glances towards Rocket and grabs at the time-watch, twisting it firmly. They can try this again. They can take the Aether from its undisturbed resting peace some millennia before this, and not have to deal with Jane again period.

Or his _mother._

He sees Rocket take the cue from the corner of his eye and twists his own watch, but nothing happens. There is no now familiar lurch through time as they're shrunk, no armor spreading over their bodies. The time-watch is locked, but it doesn't do anything.

Horror drops to his toes.

No.

_No._

_This wasn't supposed to happen!_

They were _supposed _to collect the Aether and then leave! That would be _that. _No more of this running around nonsense and-A loud expletive escapes him, and he twists at the watch again, and again, and again-but doesn't get any different results.

_They aren't going back._

_They're stuck in 2013._

"...You're not my Thor, are you?" Frigga murmurs softly, and Thor looks up at her desperately.

"You're not supposed to see me," he hisses, "I've made enough messes as it is! I don't need to leave _this _one on the day that you're to d-" Frigga presses a hand against his lips, and Thor's eyes widen as he realizes what he almost did.

Frigga gives a little headshake, "I was raised by witches, boy. I know how to handle time warps," she sighs slightly and looks down the hall at the sound of the Einherjar. Frigga grabs at his wrist and beings to pull him forward. To dazed and shocked to be doing much else, Thor follows after her wordlessly. "Come," Frigga insists, waving a hand towards Rocket.

"I swear, lady," Rocket hisses under his breath, gripping a hand around his gun, "no attempted murders."

Frigga's lips curve up, "None," she swears.

She tugs them into a small room that Thor knows is used as a music room for the children of the servants and aids of the palace, and forces them to take a seat on one of the couches. Thor sees Rocket continuing to fiddle with the time-watch from the corner of his eye, but nothing changes.

Frigga sits down on the small table in front of them, her eyes lingering on Rocket's device for a long moment. "What are you doing here?" She questions calmly. Her serenity makes Thor want to grab at his hair and _scream. _The pressure refuses to alleviate, and he has no idea how to make this any better.

Thor makes a little noise in the back of his throat, and Rocket flicks a hand, "Yeah, sorry, Majesty, but he doesn't talk no more. I'm the interpreter."

Thor's gaze flicks to his feet in humiliation.

He's supposed to be better than this.

"What?" Frigga murmurs, and gently tips his chin up so he's looking at her again, "Did something happen to your tongue?"

Thor gives a slow shake of his head.

"Your voice?"

Another shake.

Frigga's eyes narrow, and Rocket rests a reassuring hand on Thor's upper arm for a second, "Yeah, a diagnosis hasn't been satisfactorily determined yet, so I wouldn't push. Augh!" He hisses as one of the wires in the watch zaps him.

"What is this?" His mother questions, lifting up the device on Thor's hand.

"Means of travel," Rocket grumbles, "but it's broken."

Thor makes a little noise in the back of his throat and tilts his head forward to rest against his knees. Oh, Norns above, this is a _disaster. _He's never going back to 2023. He's not going to see Loki again, nor the other Avengers, they won't reverse the snap, and Thanos will remain victor.

He failed.

"Ah." Frigga hums, "Would you mind giving me and my son a moment alone? There's a room extended to this that has musical instruments. If you don't _touch _anything, you are welcome to continue to fiddle there. When we have finished, I can attempt to help you with my sedir."

Thor almost sees the raccoon roll his eyes, but he nonetheless gets to his feet. "Yeah, yeah, I'm sure magic will solve all of this."

Frigga doesn't say anything in response, and Rocket exits the room.

"Thor," Frigga's voice is gentle, and she rests a hand on his head softly. Thor flinches to it, but his mother doesn't draw her hand away, instead beginning to stroke his hair. A warm feeling washes through him, and Thor nearly vomits. Frigga's sedir. Checking him for injuries, because she doesn't trust that he would tell her the truth.

Reasonable.

But it still stings.

"My darling son," Frigga sighs, and gently begins to untangle a knot, "you look _haggard. _When was the last time you ate something?"

Thor shrugs.

He can feel the stare of her disapproval, and shrivels beneath it. Frigga's hands settle on his head for a second, and the sensation is oddly comforting. Warm. "Hmm. Worry not, Dearheart, I am not angry."

Everyone is.

Somewhere, she probably is, too.

Thor sighs.

"Thor," Frigga's voice is gentle, "you are safe here. You must know that."

Thor lifts his head to look up at her and she slides her hands down to take his, blue eyes gently searching his face. How...how does this _matter _if he is safe or not? He swallows and parts his lips, trying to fight at that awful monster that grabs at his voice.

His first attempt fails, as does his second, but Frigga is patient and doesn't let irritation show on her face.

It's reassuring.

Thor mouths the words several times before a proper, squeaked syllable slips out: "Sorry." His mind _reels _with this revelation. He spoke. He _always _has to wait for the monster to release him before he can find success in this, and he _didn't. How…?_

Frigga gently smooths her thumb over his palm, and the sensation of her touch makes his skin coil beneath the surface in discomfort. "What for?" Frigga questions.

Thor swallows again, trying not to get his hopes up to high should this attempt fail as well, "I...failed you, 'm sorry," Thor flicks his wide eyes to their feet, but Frigga tilts his face back up to him, waiting until he's met her eyes before she speaks:

"I'm certain that, given whatever happened, you tried your hardest. That's all that matters to me, Thor."

Gaining confidence, Thor blurts out: "But I let everyone die." Frigga's brow furrows a little and Thor begins to explain, but the further he goes along the faster his voice picks up speed: "_All _of them, Mother, and I didn't...this man gathered the Infinity Stones together and killed have half population, _everywhere, _and it's my fault because I didn't go for the head and now the Avengers are furious at me and I was supposed to fix this, but instead I let Loki die and now me and Rocket are stuck here because the time-watches aren't working and we _didn't _get the Aether to fix what happened, and, and, _and-_the blood falls onto my hands. I've spent the last few years hearing that too much to think about anything else.

"I'm so sorry mother, I'm sorry that you have a failure for a son, I'm not worthy to be speaking with you," Thor breathes out the last part, and Frigga makes the face he's long since come to associate with when she's uncertain how to respond. She makes a little humming noise.

.

.

[THEY GO TO THE DARK WORLD]

And-_oh. _Loki moves forward stiffly, trying to keep himself grounded, but the sensation of seeing his corpse is nothing sort of jolting. He's created illusions before, yes, but both Thor and he knew what was going to happen. This was unexpected, and where the blade pierced sings with a whispered pain.

Loki draws up beside him, and rests a hand on Thor's shoulder wordlessly. Thor's gaze lifts to him, and Loki feels the jump beneath his fingers. His mouth opens soundlessly, but beyond a slight squeak, nothing else verbalizes.

* * *

Clint's breath escapes him in a little puff, but he breathes out steadily, trying to keep his hands from shaking. This was an awful idea. This was an awful, awful idea. What was he thinking? It would all work out just because he willed it to? That's not how anything works, and he's become a painful benefactor of that realization since he was born.

_God, please, if you're listening, don't...don't let this go as terribly as I'm thinking. Thanks._

"You're going to attract Dragr, calm yourself," Loki whispers with some bite beside him, and Clint has to keep himself from physically jumping at the high-pitched wail of his borrowed voice. Clint doesn't even know the agent that he stole from, and it feels like he should. He doesn't frequent London, though, so he wouldn't know the poor sod.

"Attract what?" Clint questions in confusion and tilts his body to allow another S.H.I.E.L.D. agent to pass between the two of them. He's careful, as instructed, not to let the busy operative touch or brush against him.

Gosh, this was a terrible idea.

Why did he agree to go? (Thor is the only other person who somewhat knows what he's doing with Steve, stupid. Taking both the Asgardians would have been another one of those awful ideas you're famous for).

It's supposed to be simple. Clint can handle simple. Loki looks perfectly relaxed with his borrowed face, so Clint has no idea why the anxiety keeps festering.

You do not belong here.

Clint shakes off the whisper, and turns the hall sharply when Loki does. After they've passed two more agents, Loki glances at him. "Dragr. Raised spirits of the restless dead. Don't you have those here?"

"Yeah." Clint affirms, "They're called ghosts. How is my anxiety going to attract them? They smell fear?"

Loki gives him one of those knowing looks. Something Clint's become all-too familiar with since Thor dragged his sorry butt back from the Statesmen three days ago. "They feed off of negative energy," Loki explains offhandedly. "The aura is getting stronger. We're close. Are you ready?"

No.

"Yes," Clint assures, glancing down the hall to check for any more stray agents before he flicks his gaze up towards the security cameras. Steve is waiting on them, and they really need to get the Aether quickly. Loki really should still be there, but they didn't have much of a choice.

Clint is a former S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, and therefore familiar with the barracks basic layout, and Loki can cloak them. If they'd just gotten the stupid Stone before Dr. Foster lost it to Malekith, that would have been grand. Instead, they spent a majority of that day panicking as Loki bled a "demon" from Steve's head. The purge itself took a little under a minute, but he was warding off further attempts for the rest of the morning.

It was horrifying.

Clint has never seen Steve bleed so freely from his face. Maybe that's why he jumped ship, too. He can't stand to wipe more blood as the named demon tries to slip into the captain's head again.

Demons.

Because yeah. Those are a thing, apparently. This is turning out to be one of the worst and strangest handful of days of his life, only topped by the Vanishing. They should have left Loki with Steve. At least then he would have had the reassurance that should the demon-thing attack again, Loki could stop it.

Now they're running around London's S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters so they can steal the Aether and bring it back to Asgard, and then finally go home. Maybe. That depends on Steve's condition.

Demons.

Who-?

Loki stops in front of a door suddenly, and it takes every ounce of self control Clint still possess to not barrel into him. He rocks forward on his toes and shifts his weight back to his heals as Loki rests a palm flat on the surface. "It's in here," he murmurs softly.

Clint nods. Alright. They can do this.

Curse the stupid demon. They'd already have the Aether if it wasn't for them.

He draws an arrow from his quiver and turns, locating the camera for this hall after a second. He draws back to his cheek and squints a little before firing. The arrow lands with a solidified thump and Clint sees the eletrictly bounce from the tip into the camera, shutting it down completely.

Clint draws another arrow, and anxiously flexes his fingers around his bow with his right hand. "That's two minutes before they swarm us," Clint announces, turning back to the Asgardian. Loki nods absentmindedly, hands over the keypad with some sort of white-yellow-thing. It sort of looks like a sheet of glass, but misty and dripping.

Loki flexes his hands over the center of the white-thing and the door flashes green a moment later, unlocking with a soft hiss. Loki pushes the door open, mist fading. Clint follows after him, bow at the ready and fires at the two guards with stun before they have time to react.

The two bodies hit the ground with a thump, and Clint does a quick survey of the room. It's about as big as a basic storage unit in any other S.H.I.E.L.D. base Clint's seen, but the one difference is that it is completely void of anything save a small table in the middle where a glass compartment is sitting. It reminds Clint of the storage unit the Tesseract was in as Thor used it to return to Asgard, but it's only purpose seems to be holding the Aether, not using it.

The Stone looks...not how Clint was expecting. Thor mentioned it was fluid back at base-before everything, before Vorimir, before-so he didn't expect it to be a solid Stone like the others were. But it's still weird. It looks like floating, angry Kool Aid.

"Okay," Clint breathes out slowly, shutting the door behind them. It locks with a soft hiss. "We got it. Let's get back to the others so we can leave this stupid crap behind us, yeah?"

Are there cameras? Clint didn't immediately see any when he stepped into the room, but he does another quick check. The goal of this is to be as invisible as possible.

Loki doesn't answer, moving forward quietly towards the table. Something has changed about his posture, and it has nothing to do with the figure he shape-shifted into twenty minutes prior when they snuck into the base. His bones made the weirdest grinding noise and Clint is never going to think about broken bones the same again.

"Loki?" Clint questions hesitantly, moving towards the Asgardian.

Something isn't right.

You do not belong-yeah, yeah, I know, shut up.

Loki's lips are pressed into a thin line before he slowly lifts his hands up over the glass. The Aether moves towards the Asgardian's hands as if drawn there, and Clint represses a jump as it slams against the glass. It's only a faint little tink noise, but it's unsettling.

These Stones are alive.

He'd be better off not to forget that.

It moved.

Oh, gosh, it moved towards Loki.

And-what the heck is he-Loki's pulled a dagger from somewhere and Clint has half a second to process a state of confusion, and then "well that can't be good" before Loki jams the weapon into the glass. It immediately cracks, and something in Clint's stomach flips. What the heck is he-

The sound of the cracking snaps him from his reverie, and Clint grabs at the Asgardian's forearm and wishes with an aching sort of soreness in his chest that Thor had agreed to go with them.

Why did he have to agree to this.

Thor would have been better. Heck, Rocket would have been better, and he and Loki aren't exactly on good terms.

"What are you doing?" Clint hisses, noting with some horror that the Aether is beginning to swim towards the cracks. No, he changes his first statement. It's not Kool Aid. It's fine grands of sand. Loki pulls that dagger out and it's going to come spilling out. What will they do then?

Loki attempts to squirm from Clint's grip without success before a sharp pain ripples across his stomach. Clint staggers back from the kick, hand releasing the Asgardian as a wheeze slips through startled his lips.

Loki agreed to-

_What is he doing-?_

_("We missed the window. What are we going to do? I don't know how to fight off a bloody demon, but someone has to get that stupid Stone."_

_"Yes."_

_"So we do what, exactly, Psychopath? Run around? We need to get the Aether."_

_"I know. Thor knows enough about basic treatment to keep the captain's brain from exploding while you and I retrieve the Aether on Earth. S.H.I.E.L.D. claimed it for a few days, yes? Before Thor took it back to Asgard again.")_

Loki twists the dagger, forming a bigger hole and Clint swears softly under his breath. No. This can't be happening. Loki was...he doesn't know. But he was helping. He saved Steve's life. Clint thought that it...what was he thinking? Just because Loki pulls a demon from Steve's head that it immediately means he's going to help them fix the problem?

This man worked for Thanos six years ago.

He stole Clint's mind.

He slaughtered innocents in the Attack of New York.

None of this would have happened if Loki hadn't dragged Thanos's attention to Earth in the first place. Nat would still be alive. Laura and his kids. Tony's kid. Wanda. Sam. If Asgard hadn't left that stupid cube on Earth for who-knows-how-long, then the blood of innocents wouldn't be pooling at their feet.

And now Loki plans on doing something else to wash their hands red with.

Why did he agree so easily to let freakin' Loki be the second operative on this mission? He's a wild card. He's not their ally. He's not their friend. He doesn't care about them. This isn't betrayal, because Clint had never expected him to help them finish this in the first place.

Clint draws his bow and raises an arrow to his cheek, "Put down the container." His voice is flat. It isn't a request.

Loki looks up at him. His face is placid, but his eyes are a whirlwind of emotions he can't place that well. Raw. Panic. Something else. The Asgardian's lip twitches a little. "As you wish, Hawk."

Loki drops it. Clint lurches to grab it, but he's too late. (Always too late). The glass slams into the hard ground in between them, and it shatters immediately from the pre-broken area.

Clint staggers backwards as the Aether surges free of its prison, hissing and whispering around their feet. An awful dread seizes his chest, and his heart picks up speed. The headache dully present in the back of his mind flares and his stomach lurches.

The Aether swims across the ground, prodding and poking at everything. Clint's lips twist with horror as he scrambles away, trying to find higher ground where the thing won't touch him. The red sandy-angry Kool Aid, swirls towards his boots before it's suddenly jerked backwards. Clint's gaze follows the Stone from his feet to the source of the pull and sees that Loki is...calling the red substance to him. It's snaking up his arms and Clint's eyes widen with disgust as he realize that Loki is, in fact, absorbing it into his skin.

No.

No, no, no.

This wasn't supposed to happen!

Loki staggers to his knees, inhaling raggedly as he shakes and Clint turns his head away as he hears the awful popping sound of joints clicking in and out of place as Loki shape-shifts. The cold feeling of Loki's illusion wrapped around his skin ceases, and Clint flicks his head up. Loki is on his hands and knees, still, hand clawing at his throat as he coughs.

Move.

There's still time to fix this.

Clint shoves himself forward, and raises his bow firing an arrow from stiff fingers. What would have been a perfect kill shot through Loki's skull is repelled as a red orbish-like dome deflects it violently. Clint is thrown back towards the opposing wall, hard, and his heart twists with an ache as his thoughts stray first to Wanda.

She's not here. This isn't hers.

So what was that? Didn't...ugh, Clint struggles to pull up memories of the reports. He remembers reading somewhere, maybe Thor told him, but the Aether has a defensive system. It won't let it's host be harmed, and Clint trying to shove an arrow through Loki's head constitutes that, apparently.

Great.

What now?

Breathing unsteadily, Clint pulls himself off the ground to see that Loki has somewhat shoved himself to his own, gripping at the table like it's his only support. Faintly, his mind registers the sounds of S.H.I.E.L.D. beginning to break through the door, but that seems to triveal.

Clint draws another arrow, "Is this all some sort of game to you?" He seethes, "People's lives are on the line."

Loki coughs, wiping something that looks like blood from the side of his mouth. "I am aware, Hawk," his voice has lost the control, and now sounds hoarse and sickly. "It is why I have to do this."

"Do what?" Clint demands, advancing forward slowly.

S.H.I.E.L.D. is getting closer. Clint can hear them shouting.

Loki shakes his head, "You wouldn't understand."

Probably not, but that's a good thing, right? Clint doesn't exactly want to be privy to what runs around a murderer's mind. (Look in the mirror and you'll know, Barton).

A faint moan whispers from the sorcerer's lips, and Loki looks like he's trying very hard not to be sick all over the floor. Clint shakes his head with disgust. He knew this was coming. He should have seen it sooner, but he knew it was coming.

S.H.I.E.L.D. is beginning to break through the door.

Loki is holding the Aether. He is still technically a carrier. Clint has to take him back. (How? Loki was the one who got them here in the first place). Without much thought on it, Clint dives forward and tackles Loki fully to the floor. They briefly struggle for a second before Clint slams a fist into Loki's left shoulder.

He doesn't realize until Loki cries out loudly that that was the shoulder that Rocket shot three days ago.

...Whoops?

The door breaks open and S.H.I.E.L.D. agents begin to pour into the room, shouting words that Clint doesn't hear very clearly. It sounds almost murky. A dull panic thrums in his stomach (they weren't supposed to see them! Crap, crap, crap-).

Loki's wild eyes meet with his for a brief second before he grabs at Clint's wrist tightly and slams his other fist against the ground. The solid feeling vanishes completely as they tumble through open space in the teleportation.

They leave S.H.I.E.L.D. behind to gape at where they were standing.

_You do not belong here._

Rather than the tumbling through space and time for eternity like Clint was half expecting, or Loki to simply _leave _him there, they stumble back onto the field of Asgard.

Later, after Thor has had a proper amount of time to scowl at them silently as Rocket yells and waves his gun around, Clint overhears Loki quietly crying. It's so off-character that it takes Clint a second to recognize the noise for what it is.

Thor stormed off to clear his head ten minutes ago, and Rocket is...doing some sort of Rocket thing out of view. Clint was left in charge of looking after Steve, and Loki was sort of scowled into sitting down against a rock and told not to move. Clint really can't much of the conversation, and somewhere he's pretty sure that's not a good thing.

Loki's skin has stretched and he's waxy and pale. He looks sick.

And he's crying.

After a small internal battle, Clint sits down next to him. Loki immediately stiffens, and Clint blows out a breath. "You're an egotistical moron. I hate you." He says sincerely. "There. We can pretty well clear up that I'm not going to shower you with pity. But tears? You already caused a mess. Weeping because you wanted it to be worse?"

Loki softly closes his eyes, openly wincing a second later and rubbing at where his heart is located underneath his clothing. "I'm sorry," he whispers, "I didn't…" another wince with a following grimace, "think that this would...happen."

An apology?

What?

Clint lifts an eyebrow. "You and I both know that you only agreed to help me get the Aether so you could _steal _it. I'm not stupid."

Loki gives a flat laugh, "No. No. But I was supposed…" he shakes his head, rubbing at his temples, "reality would fold to my will, and I was going to save my mother...but it was a foolish impulse...not much more. It wouldn't have been fair to her or me, but I…" he trails, his voice dropping to a low whisper.

An underlying hiss of worry releases suddenly, and Clint can really only blink. His thoughts have skittered, hiccuped, and then proceeded but he can't make any sense of the mesh left behind. Loki was...oh.

No malicious plot, then.

Just an attempt to…

Oh.

Clint doesn't want to ask, but does anyway after flicking a glance towards Steve to check on him, "But…?"

Loki lifts up his hands and Clint sees a red pulsing through his palms. The Aether. It looks so gross beneath skin. "It's eating me." Clint doubletakes at the admission, lips parting openly with surprise. Loki shakes his head, "Specifically, my sedir. I can't use it. I was going to save her, and I can't without the Aether stopping my heart."

Loki grits his jaw and slams his head back against the rock in anger. He looks gutted.

Clint can't think of anything to say, so he doesn't.

Loki doesn't speak again until Steve wakes up.

* * *

Thor rests a hand on his shoulder to steady him, and a sickening realization settles like lead in bones, "How long was I out?" He questions, and the four look between each other before Rocket gives a little breath.

"About three days."

Steve's eyes widen, and a loud expletive slips from his lips. The Aether. They were supposed to get the Aether, and this means that their window of opportunity is _gone. _They were waiting for the morning, but if the morning never came and it didn't-

Steve scrambles up, but his feet don't like that idea and he's tumbling to his knees, Clint bracing him a moment later. "No, no, no," Steve says, letting out a frustrated breath, "we were supposed to get the Stone, and we _didn't-_"

"We _did," _Rocket says, helping Clint shove him back into a sitting position. "We couldn't risk travel with you like this and Loki is the only person would help, so we haven't gone back to 2023 yet, but we have it. Calm down."

Confusion flutters through him, but it's not unusual now. This feels like a disaster. "I don't…" Steve starts, trailing, but Loki releases a little breath and lifts up his palm beneath Steve's eyes. Interwoven between faint blood vessels, Steve can make out a thick red one that doesn't look natural. He's hasn't seen the Aether in person, only videos of London, but he recognizes it all the same.

He lifts his gaze to Loki, horrified, "You-"

The sickly pallor of his skin, and the over all corpse-like-state of his appearance makes an awful sense now. Loki has an _Infinity Stone in his blood._

"The Aether has a defense system," Loki begins, and now that he's listening for it, he can hear the rattle in the voice, "and when we attempted to inject Ms. Foster with Rocket's needle, it almost set that off. Given that we were in a confined space and my past and Thor's past selves mere feet in front of us, we couldn't risk it. I absorbed it from Ms. Foster."

"Then…" Steve trails, looking around them, "Where _are _we?"

* * *

You have got to be freakin' kidding me.

A little over two days with almost no contact, no explanations for the wait beyond Steve's crypt message, no reason to not fear that they've all been brutally slaughtered, and Tony has to be the one on guard when the five finally do collapse back onto the platform.

He was even being nice. It was supposed to be Bruce's shift, but one hard stare at his fellow scientist's face caused Tony to stem his desire to sleep and he sent him back to bed. They'd been keeping a watch on the platform since they re-callbuirated it to bring the others back here, and without any immediate successes, but no panicked words from Steve beyond the fact that Thor and Rocket failed to collect the Aether, Tony had assumed they were only delayed.

He didn't want to contemplate other possibilities, so he was happily living in his bubble of ignorance until they would arrive again.

But he didn't want to be the one on duty when they did stumble back into the proper time again. Let alone in the middle of the night with half a brain and fumes from mostly stolen coffee via Natasha's supply. She has a small section dedicated to when she needed to stay awake, and it is some of worst, most bitter tasting drink he has ever had in his life.

Well, a part of him quietly muses as he jumps, swearing loudly at the five's sudden return, at least the math worked this time.

You have got to be freakin' kidding me.

"Tony!" Clint's voice rings up first among the scattered mess, but Tony is already on his feet, coffee on the table, and rapidly taking the steps needed to cross the distance between them. Steve is strung up across Clint's shoulders, looking as if he got hit by a bus. His hair is sticking up in weird angles, and he's pale, waxy, with dark circles under his eyes.

On his left is Thor, with Loki lifted in his arms in a bridal style that probably would have made Tony laugh out loud or make some nasty joke if it was any other circumstance. Thor's face is still thin, and his eye wildly flitting across everything. He can't tell much from the harsh angle, but Loki looks outright dead with floppy limbs, bruises, and what the heck is wrong with his skin? Is it glowing?

Between the two disasters is Rocket, who looks remarkably unharmed, if a little ruffled.

Tony swears again, and moves forward to Clint first, because Steve is hanging off of the archer and needs to be supported from both sides. "What the heck happened? A building fall on you?" He questions harshly, but he and Clint move forward in unspoken agreement to get to the medical room. The others follow after them wordlessly.

"No," Steve grumbles, but his voice is raspy. Awake, then, that's good.

"I wish," Clint answers. "Would've been easier to deal with."

How?

"FRIDAY, prep the med room and tell Bruce to get his butt down there faster than escape velocity." Tony commands, "Loki's unconscious-" dead? "-and Cap's getting there."

"Am not." Steve protests, and Tony resists the sudden and very strong urge to hit him, or rattle him back and forth until the brains he knows are in there turn back on. Were they hit by some sort of defense system? How hard is it to get an Infinity Stone out of a woman who's barely above five feet?

"In that phrasing, Boss?" FRIDAY snarks, and Tony catches one of her camera's with a scowl.

"Brat," he mutters under his breath.

"Dr. Banner has been alerted to the situation," FRIDAY assures about a minute later, "he's on his way."

They make it to medical about six minutes later, and, as Clint helps Steve onto one of the cots, Tony turns around to help Thor lay Loki down. The Asgardian's breath is making weird hitching noises, and it doesn't sound full or very rhythmatic. He can't see any obvious injury, but it must be there somewhere for the Asgardian to be reacting this terribly.

And-what on earth is wrong with his skin?

Tony turns back to Steve, but beyond helping Clint battle him into laying down, he feels oddly helpless. He's trained in basic medical procedure, but really not enough to help anything like this.

Rocket climbs up onto the bed beside Steve, expression grim, "Stark," he addresses, and Tony turns to him. "We've got to get the Aether out of him," Rocket gestures behind Tony, and he whirls to follow the claw to Loki. The Aether is...it's...oh. Well crap.

"What the heck happened to a containment!?" Tony demands, "You had your tubey-needle-thing. It was supposed to hold it!"

"Well, surprise sunshine, It didn't!" Rocket answers, voice firm and frayed, "No one warned me that the Aether has a defense system to protect its host. It didn't take well to when I tried to stab him in the arm after the idiot freakin' absorbed it."

Absorbed-!?

"Why would he absorb it!?"

"Because Clint is a klutz-" Clint fidgets at Rocket's words visibly, enough to catch Tony's attention, "-and dropped the stupid container it was in, and glass shatters. Especially when it's pathetic Terran glass, and not meant to be holding an Infinity Stone that can literally fold reality and doesn't take well to being held captive. So yeah, we didn't have many options."

That's not the whole story.

It's a terrible lie.

A quick glance towards Clint's face reaffirms this thought in his head again, but Tony doesn't push like he wants to. It seems better to let this one lie out of his hands.

Tony knows that his face is showing open agitation. More than he would like, but he can't wipe it from his features. The Aether. The Aether is in the psychopathic invader who, more than a decade ago, tried to kill all of them, conquer the planet, and destroyed the lives of hundreds of people. Tony saw footage from London, he knows what a massive mess the Aether can make, and that is in Loki's blood.

Can he use it?

Gosh, he hates this.

Who's idea was it to drag Loki back with them as a guide? Because Tony's going to hit them.

Tony breathes out slowly, trying to ground himself. He wants to talk to Pepper, but that's not an option right now. He turns back to Rocket, "What do we do? If we can't just stab him with a needle, then…?"

"I don't know," Rocket admits, shrugging, "but we need to get it out."

"Tony," Steve's voice is weak, but Tony ignores it. Dang it, this wasn't supposed to be his job. Rocket assured them that he could handle it, and, having more experience in that department than any of the rest of them, Tony had completely let him have at it.

"Tony," Steve tries again.

Tony waves a hand, "You're not stupid. Fix it." He demands. Tony will only make it worse if he tries, but Rocket will be successful. Tony trusts him with that.

Rocket scowls at him a little, but it's less murderous than previous expressions, so Tony takes some comfort in that.

"Tony," Steve whispers, and Tony whirls around to face him, trying to keep irritation off his face.

"What?" His voice is harder than he meant for it to be, but Steve doesn't seem deeply unsettled by this fact. Clint is still standing next to him, watching the captain with an expression that Tony can't quite place. It's something similar to what he was wearing after they pulled Tasha and Steve out of Japan.

Steve licks his chapped lips, lifting up a hand to grab at his forearm, his blue eyes earnest, "Wanda was-"

The door to the room is thrown open at last, and Bruce steps into the room. His hair is sticking in multiple directions, and Tony is filled with a sudden pang that, despite how exhausted his teammate looks, they can't send Bruce back to bed. Whatever happened they need him to be here for. They don't have any choice on the matter.

He wishes they did.

Bruce looks between them all, eyes calculating and assessing data before he sighs deeply. "Who's the most dead?" He questions. His voice is laced with an attempt at humor and this is somewhat reassuring. At least Tony can rest in peace knowing that Bruce isn't going to hold this against him for the rest of his life.

Humor is good.

All hands lift, almost in sync, to Loki's prone form on the hospital bed. There isn't any question, and Tony thinks that, given a different set of circumstances, the utter agreement between them all would have been hilarious. For right now, it isn't.

Bruce's lip twitches up in a slight smile before he moves towards the Asgardian. His fingers press for a pulse, but Tony cant see his expression from this angle. Given how pale Thor has gone, it isn't anything good.

"Alright, everyone out," Bruce commands, turning back to them and waves his hands, "I have sick people to care for and none of you are helping. You're distracting me."

Rude.

"Do you need an assistant?" The words are his. He's pretty sure, but they sound faint. Distant. Unconnected from himself. Realities away.

"I have one," Bruce says, opening a cabinet and pulling out a handful of supplies, "FRIDAY. If I need another set of hands, I'll call someone in," he promises, and looks over at them again. "For now, go sit down. Get some food." He scowls when none of them move. "Now."

Reluctantly, they slip from the room. Thor closes the door behind them, his hand lingering on the handle as Rocket slumps against the ground letting out a faint groan. "I am done," he declares, "absolutely done."

Tony breathes out quietly and nods, "Yeah. Foods in the fridge."

"That means moving," Rocket grumbles, but nonetheless gets to up with a heaved breath.

**.**

"So the Aether?" Tony probes Clint, and sees the archer's spin stiffen a little, "I've received dozens of lies about what happened, and I expect the truth and nothing but the truth from you, Birdbrain."

"This isn't court." Clint counters.

* * *

Tiredly, Steve slowly blinks his eyes open to see a thick overcast of clouds. He's squinting up at them, trying to make sense of why it's significant, when Rocket's head blocks his vision. The raccoon gives him a hard stare before turning to look away, "He's awake!"

Was he sleeping?

Steve slowly makes his way into a sitting position and has about a second to congratulate himself on doing that much before a hand slams against his forehead. He jumps, making a pained noise as he feels a forgien presence whisper in the back of his mind before retreating.

"Anything?" Clint asks warily, and Steve looks up to see him standing behind Loki's right. The Asgardian is squatted down next to him with a furrowed expression, and Thor is behind his sibling's left with a similar face.

"Not so far," Loki answers.

"...is that good?" Clint presses, and Loki gives a mirthless huff.

"That's hard to determine, Hawk," the Asgardian says, and then turns to him. The full extent of his attention is almost stifling, and Steve can't quite help when he draws away a little. Loki pulls his hand away from Steve's forehead; staring at him like he's some sort of puzzle. "How do you feel?"

"Tired," Steve admits reluctantly, "mostly confused. What happened?"

A look passes between the four, and Clint's lips thin tightly as Loki's face pinches a little. "From what I understand, someone invaded your mind last night."

Steve _feels _his face pale and drop with horror and surprise. It wasn't a dream. Oh, gosh, it _wasn't _a dream, but it should have been because _that wasn't _"someone" _that was Wanda. _She's been in his thoughts before. Sometimes in their missions she would open telepathic links between them when comms broke down or it was necessary for stealth. He's felt her in his head before enough to recognize her, and there is no way that should be possible.

"Wanda!" Steve blurts out without meaning to, and, like a five-year-old that's said a bad word, promptly slams his hands over his mouth. Loki's expression furrows further, but Steve sees the others' faces dawn with recognition.

Clint regains himself first, and his voice is shaky, "You felt her? How?"

Loki lifts up a hand before Steve can answer, "Who is Wanda?"

A flurry of answers immediately spills from every mouth but Thor's, yet Loki doesn't seem frustrated by the overlapping words in the slightest. He listens until they all quiet, and then turns to Thor. "Midgard's sorcerers can't _do _telepathy."

How does he know that?

Thor shrugs and makes a so-so gesture with his hands.

Loki's lips purse slightly before he shakes his head and looks back at Steve, "Regardless, this woman attempted to invade your head, but the distance between you two was putting significant strain on your mind. It was pulling your head apart."

Steve stomach clenches a little, "And?"

"I...threw her out," Loki explains, hands fluttering as if flustered, "there wasn't much fight, but I'm still seeing if she'll try again."

Suddenly everything seems to make a _click _in his head, and he sits up fully, grabbing at nothing. "Wait-no, _don't," _he demands, voice harsher than he meant for it to be, "let her do it."

Silence settles over the group for a long second; as if they're attempting to contemplate a large bout of stupidity, find themselves incapable, and then try again. Loki regains himself first, and his lips part, tongue noiseness for a moment before he speaks, "I really don't think that-"

"No, you don't understand," Steve insists, "Bucky was there-Tony's kid, and Dr. Strange, and-"

Loki grabs his shoulders, "She is _tearing _apart your brain, Captain. I don't care _who _you claim to have seen. You woke us with your screaming."

Steve stills, his tongue suddenly heavy. That's...how...he doesn't remember that.

"I...what?" Steve questions helplessly.

"Yeah," Rocket inputs, "howling like you were getting an arm severed or something."

Oh.

Clint's rubbing at his forehead, and the action catches Steve's attention, "I don't understand. She's been dead for five years, and there is _no way _that she could contact you." Clint says.

"She _was _there," Steve insists.

Loki frowns, "Dead? As in she was slain in battle?"

"No, she vanished after Thanos snapped," Steve answers, rubbing under his eyes in frustration and confusion. He is _so _tired.

"Oh, _oh-" _Loki breathes sharply, and turns to Thor, "she's in the Soul Stone, brother, and you know that means there is the possibility that she could reach out."

Thor's eye widens and he forms a soundless "oh".

"I don't understand," Steve says, looking between the two sibilngs, "hasn't she been in the Soul Stone since the snap?"

"Likely," Loki assures, "but the Soul Stone was destroyed, so I imagine they've been wandering spirits since their bodies and minds were taken. But you brought the Stone _back _to the present, and they were pulled into the Stone as a result of Romanov opening the door for them again. If she hadn't, they would have been formless, and you snapping your fingers again wouldn't have mattered."

Natasha opening the…

But if the Vanished aren't _dead _because of Natasha then…

_Then…_

"Nat's dead," Rocket states firmly, if a little shaken, "she couldn't have opened the door for anyone. _She's too busy being dead."_

Loki shakes his head, shifting his weight from his right side and folds his arms across his chest. "No, she's in the Soul Stone."

Steve's stomach does a hopeful fluttering that he immediately tries to quell. He can't jump at this. He's tired of getting his hopes up only to have them crushed. Every solution since 2018 has made a disaster or simply not worked. Scott wasn't the first time they tried to fix this, he's just the one they've made the most progress with.

Steve _wants _Natasha to come back. He wants her to live and be happy, but he can't grasp this with both hands.

"What?" The question fell from his lips, but he hardly recognizes his own voice. It sounds faint, almost sickly.

Loki looks between them before sighing deeply and pinching the bridge of his nose as if amazed by their stupidity. "What I know of the Soul Stone is admittedly limited. Asgard has-_had_ it's resources, but most of what I learned of it came from a place I don't feel inclined to share. A soul for a soul is what I've heard, but what I _know _is that Agent Romanov gave her soul for the Stone. But this isn't the first time the trade has been done, Captain."

And that-

The Soul Stone has been traded for before...but if that _is _the case, then the Stone has to go back to whatever hole it crawled out of to _make_ the trade again, otherwise it _should _have been running around the universe like the other five. Natasha and Gamora's lives were given for the Stone, but they couldn't have done that unless the Stone was returned.

"What are you saying?" Clint's voice is barely above a breath.

Loki's gaze flicks to the archer for a moment before returning to him, "I'm _saying_ that you have to bargain for her soul again. She was traded for the Stone, you have to trade the Stone for her."

_Clint traded my soul, and you need to trade to get it back._

Rocket looks as if he's been slapped, and murmurs a word under his breath Steve thinks is "Gamora". Clint presses the back of his hand against his mouth. Thor's breath catches. They can still save Natasha. They can still bring her back. She's not dead. Not _really. They can still fix this._

"What do we have to do?" Steve questions.

Loki shakes his head and shrugs a little, "I'm uncertain. I've never traded for it before, and the only person I suspect has is on Alfheim. Rotting, I should add, he's been dead for over two centuries." Loki rubs at his forehead as if trying to keep back a headache, "Thirst for knowledge satisfied? You've made a mess of time and broken the laws of Yggdrasil, but who am I to judge?"

Steve's stance shifts a little, "Do you know anything else about the Stone?"

"No," Loki promises, "but even if I did, why would I tell you?"

"Because you're _supposed_ to be helping us, Psychopath_,_" Clint hisses, "and this information would have been helpful _yesterday._"

Loki looks up at him, there is no anger in his eyes, only a wary defeat, "And if I had, then what? It serves no greater purpose now then it would have then."

Clint's fist clenches, but Thor shifts pointedly. As a warning.

"Hawk," Loki's voice is patient, but drained, "it didn't occur to me that you wouldn't know because I was a little busy being _shot. _I heard you talking about returning her, and I assumed that's what you meant."

"We were just going to snap her back into existence," Steve admits, and Loki's lips split into a surprised, but strangely delighted laughter.

"And you think that simply because you had the six singulaturies, that if you _wanted _it enough, she'd return?" Loki asks rhetorically, shaking his head, "_Morons. _You _have _to trade for the retrieval of the soul, there is no other way to return her."

"And what the heck are we supposed to _trade!?" _Clint demands sharply.

"I don't know!" Loki hisses, "I don't know _everything _about the Soul Stone_. _Asgard hasn't cared, and my source was...it wasn't exactly a _deeply _enlightening discussion. Or really a discussion." Loki adds the last part after a hesitation, and shakes his head as if trying to jar something out of it. He looks dizzy, and Steve is suddenly aware of just how pale he is. He looks white among the dark background.

"Great!" Clint throws his hands up, "So we can save her, but there's no way to _save _her."

"This may come as a surprise to you, Agent Barton, but necromancy has never been much of a hobby of mine," Loki snips, "I can't pull the answer out of a _hat."_

Clint turns, jerking a hand out, "_Stop _trying to be _funny! _The only reason she's dead is because of _Asgard_-it ruined _everything. _If you had never stepped foot here and stopped treating Earth like your rubbish bin, then Nat would still be alive, and Laura and my kids and-and-and you killed _everyone _and you're not even _sorry_-"

"Clint, please," Thor's voice is small.

* * *

Nebula's gun digs deeper into his wet hair and faintly he hears the clipping noise as plastic lands on the ground. A water bottle. She dumped a water bottle over his head. The gun hurts. His hands keep shaking.

He's going to fall on his nose.

He licks his dry, split lips and quietly longs for water. A ragged breath escapes his chest, but he clenches his fists tightly. Thor is right there. He doesn't have to do this again. He's not _going _to.

"No," Loki whispers, and the gun digs deeper into his skull. He flinches at the sensation, and finally notices that the entire room is darker than it should be. The only light comes from the large window on in front of him, but that's dimming. There isn't even the persistent sound of the Midgardian machines.

There is no power.

A deep coil of dread tightens around him like a noose.

"You think this some sort of game?" Nebula hisses, "_Get. Up."_

Loki digs his nails into his palm and he forces his shaking nerves to settle. "_No," _he repeats, "I thought you were stuffed into a room somewhere. You're hardly someone parading enough importance to direct me anymore."

Nebula's eyes flash, and she slams the butt of her gun against his head. Loki flinches, gasping sharply as he lifts a hand up to reach for the area, but Nebula's cybernetic hand grabs his wrist before he can reach it. With heavy force, she all but drags him up to his feet. Loki sways, hardly able to latch at a center of gravity helpful enough.

His vision is blurring.

Desperately, he reaches for his sedir only to find it shy away from him sharply and angrily. The pain of that is nearly staggering, and he coughs sharply, spitting blood onto the floor. Miss Foster has no idea how _lucky _she is that she doesn't carry a drop of sorcery on her. She would have been dead before they made it Svatherheim if she had.

He had it in him for what? An _hour _and look what it did to him.

Nebula's gun presses in between his shoulder blades, drawing him back to the present, "You know I'm not afraid to do it, Laufeyson," she hisses, and Loki hates himself for the visible tremble that passes across his spine.

"What do you _want?" _Loki hisses, "If you meant to kill me, you would have done it when you _knocked me out." _

It felt like getting struck head-on by a bolt of _lightning. _

Nebula snorts, but her laughter is dead. "I'm not going to be the person who carries out your death, you've been far too much of an inconvenience to me. Besides, my father's been inventive in his suggestions, and I'd rather like to see them come into play," she snears. Loki squeezes his eyes shut, breathing out sharply.

_My father would like to speak with you, Little King._

"_What _do you _want?" _Loki counters, attempting to squirm from her grip as she tugs him forward. Their feet pass by Thor, and Loki struggles desperately to see if he's breathing, but they move forward to quickly.

_Please. Please. Please. _

A glance at the Captain's chest reveals the thin rattle of breath, and he can hear faint moans from his hawk, and the wheezes from the raccoon. Why can't he hear Thor's?

_Please. Please. Please. _

Desperation claws through him and he twists, bringing his foot up to ram into her hip. Her grip is torn from him and Loki gyrates, running towards Thor and lands next to him on his knees. He skids somewhat, twitching limbs unable to keep their balance as well as he'd appreciate.

_Please. Please. Please._

Loki lifts his fingers beneath Thor's nose and his eyes squeeze shut a little noise of relief escape him as he feels the faint whisper of air on his fingers. His fingers stray to feel for a pulse, but a hand grabs at his shoulder and pulls him away.

Loki lashes out wildly with his fist, but Nebula grabs his wrist, eyes heated.

She pulls him back and pressure compresses in his chest, "No-wait! _Let me-"_

Nebula doesn't care. She pulls him back and presses her gun against his head; Loki can't do much more than stagger after her. His nerves still feel jumbled and not like his own. Loki wipes his wet hair away from his face, scowling at the back of Nebula's head. "What do you _want _from me?"

Nebula pulls him off of the platform and Loki's stomach sinks with a wailing despair as he sees Stark and Bruce laying face down. Bruce's head is surrounded by a pool of blood and Stark's eyes are closed. He's not close enough to determine if they're breathing or _alive. _

"You're expendable." Nebula says at last, evenly, and Loki's eyebrows furrow. "My father wants the honor of killing them himself," she jerks her head in the Avenger's direction, "but _you _can hold Infinity Stones with your bare hands. I can't."

"What…?" Loki's head shakes a little as Nebula drags him out of the garage. The entire building seems to echo and radiate its disapproval with their presence.

"And my father will be pleased to have his dog back," she adds as an almost after thought before tearing open a door and shoving him inside. The sensation of the Infinity Stones rolling power smacks into him face-first, and Loki nearly draws back as his senses heighten the faint whispers begin to murmur at him.

Oh, _Norns. _

_No._

_Not again. _

The Stones are all sitting inside of one of the Iron Man gloves. Space, Mind, Time, Soul, Reality, and Power-they're all there. Loki looks back at Nebula for a second eyebrows furrowing. "You don't need me to-"

Nebula _smiles, _and Loki's voice dies in his throat.

"I don't," she agrees, "but you don't know what Thanos did to my sister when you slipped your noose with having a door to the Chitauri's portal. It didn't occur to him until later that you spent the entire invasion trying to fail, but Gamora wasn't given food for three weeks because _she _was the one who told Ebony when to stop. You nearly killed her, Laufeyson."

No. _Thanos _did.

Loki's eyes narrow, "This is vendetta."

"Absolutely." She agrees, jaw gritting, "My father would have caught up with you eventually. I know that you know this. Why wane out the inevitable? He's demanded an audience with you."

_The Tesseract or your brother's head, I assume you have a preference? _

_My father's been meaning to speak with you, Little King. _

Loki stares at her, clawing for his sedir in an attempt to formulate _some _sort of plan, but nothing comes to mind. His sedir still shies away from him angrily. "He's...he's…" Loki curses how pathetic his voice is. "You...you plan to...what exactly?"

Nebula grabs the glove and points her gun at him, "This isn't _about _me," she seethes, "this is for Gamora. She'll see. She'll _see _that I'm worthy of her friendship by avenging her. By _protecting her. _And besides that-my father will be pleased to have you back. I told him you were here and how the Avengers never would have suspected _anything _if you hadn't been here. _I hate you." _

"Mutual." Loki promises, gnawing on his gums sharply. _Come on, think of something, you idiot. _He can't. Everything is a scattered mess and, for the love of Yggdrasil, will his hands _please _stop shaking!?

_What? Silvertongue turn to lead?_

_Shut up. _

Nebula shoves the gun in between his shoulder blades and shoves him forward, "Move. My father might be willing to show you mercy by letting you join the Order again, but I won't. You make one move to run and I shoot you. I just want you dead."

_Forbannesler. _

Thor.

Thor is still-Bruce was laying in his own blood. He can't do _anything _to help them if he's dead. He needs to play with this because he has no other options. He can't touch his sedir because of that Norn's cursed Aether, he has no weapons on his person, and whatever jolt of electricity Nebula shot him with before has messed his nerves up so awfully he doesn't know if he'll ever stop _grinding _when he moves.

All he has is his silvertongue.

He takes a step forward, quietly pleading with anyone listening to leave the Avengers and his brother alive long enough for him to return and help. He can fix this. Maybe. Hopefully. _Please. _

"Nebula," Loki starts softly, breathing out slowly as he tries to figure out how to structure this in his head properly. "You _know _that this isn't right. You know what the-Thanos plans to do with the Stones and do you _really _want to be part of that?"

"It's my father's wish," Nebula says stiffly, "nothing else matters."

Loki digs his teeth into his gums. _Think. Think. Think. _

"And, yet, Gamora has her hesitations with it. She told me, you know, and I know that you're not comfortable with this." He starts, keeping his words flat.

"I'd rather be alive when it's over," Nebula states and Loki realizes that they're moving towards an exit. He hasn't had enough time in this building to map out the exits, but Nebula, apparently, has. How long was she waiting for them?

The blood around Bruce suggests it hasn't been more than an hour.

_Norns. _

"Can you guarantee that?" Loki counters, "Your father does not care for you, Nebula. He won't attempt to save you among those who die. You would be better off simply trying to stop him."

"And end up like you?" Nebula returns, voice harsh, "You've already tightened your noose, Little King. He won't give you mercy."

_My father's been meaning to-Shut up. _

"He won't give _you _mercy."

Nebula grabs at his shoulder sharply, eyes heated, "He will. Once he sees that I'm worthy of it. Stop trying to get into my head, it _won't _work."

Her hands have tightened in their agitation, however, and Loki can see that she's unsettled.

"No," Loki agrees without conviction. "But it is _your _choice what happens. Gamora would want that. Trust me, as a leading guide in dysfunctional family relationships-"

Nebula slaps him with the butt of her weapon.

Loki's teeth snap onto his tongue, deeply, and he blinks several times with surprise and pain. His vision blurs somewhat, and Loki wipes blood from the edge of his mouth. Nebula shoves him forward harshly.

"Shut _up." _She seethes, "You don't _know _me."

Loki smiles thinly, sweeping his gaze across her pointedly, "I really don't think there's that much complexity, is there?"

Nebula lets out an audible noise of frustration, "Shut up. _Shut up! _I know what you are, murderer, and you are hardly someone to be giving speeches about redemption. My father won't _let _me change, and he won't _let you-_stop trying to pretend this is anything different. Talk again and I'll rip out your tongue."

Loki doesn't doubt it, and snaps his teeth together so quickly is clicks.

Nebula seems vaguely amused beneath the visible show of despair she's hiding beneath.

The truth of her words stings both of them.

Nebula moves forward and lifts her charred robotic hand against the door's keypad and Loki watches as she easily dismantles the override. With that completed, she shoves her gun against his head and pushes him forward again roughly.

The night air is crisp, but not quite cold. It smells awfully, though. Exactly how he recalls New York in 2012. He sucks in a breath through his teeth and flicks his gaze across the space, looking for an escape route. He can't find one.

Not one where he can reach Thor first.

And he's not leaving his older brother behind again.

Nebula shoves him through the surrounding field of the Avengers Compound, and Loki's gaze flicks up as he sees a thick shadow, not caused by the clouds, swarming over everything. His breath hitches in his chest in recognition.

The _Sanctuary. _

Nebula shoves him through the field, underneath the shadow of the _Sanctuary,_ and the closer towards figure standing in the distance. Thanos. He skips over his step at the sight.

He's going to be _ill._

_Your faith is misplaced, Asgardian. _

Nebula shoves him forward, "Move," she demands. Loki does so, and can't help as his limbs stiffen. They wont move right, and his hands keep shaking or giving out suddenly from the stupid jitter from the blast.

He didn't find a heartbeat.

Bruce was-

Stark-

_Thor. Thor is still in the building. As is everyone else, including the Hawk. _

Thor might be-

The M-Thanos turns when they get close enough, and Loki's lungs tighten with terror. This is different than the _Statesmen _somehow. Maybe it's the fact that he-mostly-came to terms with his fate when the Black Order rounded on him with their weapons. He knew he was to die, then, but _this _Thor had arrived and suddenly there was hope.

He was such a fool to cling to that.

Whether this timeline or another, he isn't meant for much more than the slaughterhouse.

"Father," Nebula greets, and the Titan's eyes flick to her for a second; something in his gaze Loki can't quite place. Perhaps pride...maybe trepidation. "I come baring gifts," she kneels before him, but Loki refuses to sink his knees. He thinks if he tries he'll only collapse. "The Infinity Gauntlet, and the Jotun traitor."

The Ma-Thanos's gaze lifts from his daughter to him, and Loki feels a tremble pass through him. He clenches his shaking fists by his side. He's quiet for a long moment. "I _still _haven't killed you yet?" The Master questions, and there's something frustrated in the question.

Maybe, given different circumstances, Loki would have laughed at that.

Loki parts his lips with effort, but his voice is small, "No, my lord,"

"Hmm, pity," the Master murmurs, then, louder he says: "you know how failure is treated, Little King, it really was a matter of time before you met your proper judgement; but I am sorry." He raises his double bladed sword, and arches his hand to swing it. Loki squeezes his eyes shut, hands graphing to reach his sedir, but it flees from him, leaving only the now familiar burn in its wake.

The metal swings through the air, and Loki prepares for the sting as it hits him, but the noise halts at Nebula's voice: "Wait!"

Loki peels his eyes open, a sharp breath escaping him in disbelief.

What on the _Nine _is she doing? She ranted and raved about wanting him dead, and now that the deed is to be done she is suddenly wary?

The Master lifts his gaze to her, "You have done well my daughter, would you not trust my judgement?" The threat is light, but there. Nebula hasn't raised from her knees, the Master hasn't told her that she can, but her gaze keeps flicking between him and her father.

"No, never," she swears, "but think. He was a means to an end with the Tesseract, but there is much more he could do for us, Father. You know the power that hides beneath his skin."

The Master pauses, and then his piercing stare lifts from Nebula to him. Loki firmly stuffs down the urge to vomit. What is she _doing? _Nebula mentioned more creative ways to kill him...and maybe this is what...what it was. Controlling his sedir was something they couldn't achieve before his invasion, and it was a small relief. Had his full power been unleashed, Thor's mortals would have been dead before he arrived.

Oh, Norns, _Thor._

The Master cannot get the Infinity Stones. He _can't; _Thor could have died for their safe retrieval. For the retrieval of the trillions of souls that now rest on the Master's head. The Midgardians have just died in an effort to protect this last effort to save them.

Loki is not a hero, that much has been reassured to him enough since birth, but he isn't going to let them die in vain. He once promised Thor to trust his rage, and maybe that's all he has now, because the rest of him is only terrified. He's not brave. Not for this.

"That may be," the Master agrees after some consideration; his weapon draws a little closer to Loki's neck, and his body tenses further. "Maybe your service has not yet met its end. I will let you live, Little King, if you show your willingness to submit. Kiss my boot."

Loki's head flicks up to the Master's, and a knot of heated humiliation slides through his fingers.

This is…

No.

_No._

The Master's face doesn't suggest that this is some sort of joke, and a distant, exhausted part of him, recognizes it as the truth. To expect something different...he's learned better by now. The tip of the blade presses against his neck and slowly, shakily, Loki lowers to his hands and knees.

His throat is dry.

His body jolts with some surprise when Nebula slowly lowers the Infinity Gauntlet to the ground and their eyes briefly meet. Her face is collected, but he can see the faint tremble in her living hand. She gives him a brief nod and Loki's stomach clenches with anticipation.

Her meaning is obvious.

Loki's hands tighten around the dirt, and he stares at his hands for a long second.

Thor is dying.

He has no proof, but he _knows. _He can feel it with every fiber of his being, and his chest constricts painfully at the thought. He reassured Thor that the sun would shine on them again, but Loki doesn't _want _the light if Thor isn't there to bask in it with him.

He resists the urge to squeeze his eyes shut before he gives a little nod of agreement.

She flicks her gaze away from him, hand straying slowly to her sword.

He forces his mind to settle, breathes out very slowly and then tilts his head down as if to submit to the Master's request. When he's close enough to the ground, Loki drops completely, rolling swiftly towards Nebula and grabs the Infinity Gauntlet, diving out of the way as the Master's blade slams into the ground beside him.

The Stones thrum with power as they touch his skin, and the sensation rises bile in his throat. He jumps to his feet as Nebula rises to hers with a cry and snaps her swords out, diving at her father with a loud yell.

Loki doesn't look back, but hears the smack as she collides with _something. _Instead, he adjusts his hold on the Infinity Gauntlet, turns towards the rubble of the Avengers Compound, and beings to _run._

But that's when the missiles hit.

* * *

Thanos's hand wraps around his throat and drags him off his feet. Loki squirms against the grip, grabbing at the forearm desperately as he tries _anything _and _everything _to get out. He can't focus enough to teleport and his sedir still feels so raw from the Aether and-

_He is dying._

He is _actually _dying.

This is worse than Svaltheriheim. That wasn't expected, it was sharp and brutal, but over in a little less than twenty seconds. This must be going backwards through time. He can feel his throat closing and his lungs burning for air as Nebula and Gamora shout and yell at their father. Loki can't hardly see through tears of pain.

This...this is it.

Thanos is smirking at him, but there's a slight sadness in his eyes that makes him sick.

Loki hears Thor's voice murkily, exclaiming something in panic. Loki squeezes his eyes shut and quietly pleads with his brother not to do anything stupid when he's dead. Or before he's dead. It's _coming, _it's _really _coming, and he's not-

He was supposed to be better before this happened.

He's not _ready._

Not after everything.

He's-

Blurry. Fading. His lungs have tightened and are going to burst inside his chest, making a mess. It will hurt, but his throat is raw and it draws the attention away from his lungs without much trouble. His senses are dulling and, his grip slips away from Thanos's hand as his muscles weaken before giving out completely.

This is-

The grip loosens abruptly, and Loki slips down to his knees, gasping and hacking up air. His muscles are akin to liquid, and he wants to weep. No, he _is _weeping. Gasping sobs of pain and relief that he can't stop even if he wanted to.

It _hurts._

Oh, Norns, how _raw _everything is.

His hands come to claw at his throat in an attempt to ease the pain, but Thanos's large fingers grip at his hair, dragging him to his knees. Loki sways sluggishly, but can't find the strength to try to struggle. His vision is still blurring, but he forces his gaze up to see what it is that stopped Thanos from killing him properly.

(_He was almost strangled to death. That would have been it. No reserections, no escape plans. (He's never had one before, anyway, only survived from sheer dumb luck))._

_He was almost-_

He has to blink several times before he can make out what it is that Thanos is staring at. Nebula and Gamora are standing on either side of Thor, weapons lifted towards their father and expressions hardened. Thor...Thor is-_What?_

Loki's jaw nearly falls.

_Oh, you moron._

Thor is holding the Infinity Gauntlet with one hand, blood leaking down his nose and from the cuts on his face, but Loki can still distantly make out the ozone in the air. Thor's one eye is glowing and the room is humming with electricity. He blinks again, trying to see through the tears, but it isn't helping because he's still gasping sobs up through his throat.

Weeping like a child.

It's impossible to determine where Thor is looking at with the glowing eye, but Loki can feel his stare. His hands are shaking, Loki realizes. Thanos is talking, but what he's saying exactly Loki can't tell, only picking up the rare word.

Thanos rattles him from his scalp, and Loki can't collapse onto his hands and knees like he'd like to. He's trapped, and he knows that the tears aren't just relief, but based on the fact that something has snapped inside of him, and there isn't enough time for him to put it back together again.

His hearing snaps back into full focus, and Loki can instantly make out the heavy breathing of everyone in the room, the dripping pipes, the sounds of distant battle, and his own gasping sobs.

"-must have a death wish," Thanos says softly, gently, as if reprimanding a child, "I've made my bargain, Asgardian...what's your's?"

Thor's hand tightens around the Gauntlet, and Loki sees Gamora's gaze briefly flick towards his face. It's then that he realizes he's not the only one who's crying.

"I don't have one," Thor hisses out, his voice is low, and Thanos makes a little humming noise. He tugs at his scalp further, and Loki jerks a little as the pain intensifies, biting sharply at his tongue to withhold the cry of pain. He's already weeping like a child, he's _not _going do anything else that will force Thor into...into whatever it is that Thanos is trying to-

Oh.

_Oh._

Thanos isn't a merciful being; he wouldn't spare Loki from the goodness of his dead heart. It was because he realized that Loki is still _useful. _He wants Thor to trade the Gauntlet for his life, and...and Loki knows that Thor is stupid enough to _do _it. He's sentimental, and Thanos knows that from tearing through Loki's mind and rebuilding it from scratch and-

No.

_No._

Thanos will take the Gauntlet simply to _stop _them, and then he'll kill Thor. And Loki won't let that happen. Not when he can stop it. It's...it's the end. The sun is behind the clouds, and Thanos has taken a gun to it in the first place.

Loki chokes, tasting blood, "Thor," his voice is hoarse, and he can feel his older brother's eye flick towards him. Thanos's are resting on him as well, but his daughter's haven't lowered their weapons, or dared to shift. Both are radiating something Loki can't quite place. Loki lifts his gaze up, and tries to keep the grimace off his lips as he gives Thor a weak smile. It doesn't feel authentic, but he tried.

"Brother, it's okay," Loki whispers, resisting the urge to rub at his neck again, "keep the Stones and unbalance everything, I'll be okay."

Thor's hard expression breaks, and it ripples with open agony, "No, _no, _I can't, Loki-Loki-you can't ask this of me. N-n-not _again!"_

Thanos takes a step forward, dragging Loki with him, and Thor's defenses raise, but there is no Mjolnir, no Stormbreaker. There is just Thor. "I spent a great deal of time with your brother," Thanos says, and Loki resists the urge to vomit, everything feels so _wrong, "_I know how his mind works. He's lying to you, Asgardian, give me the Gauntlet and you can walk away from this. You survived the first balance, you are meant to be here."

Loki licks his split lip, "It's okay," he repeats, trying to keep the tremble from his voice, "we'll be okay, brother,"

Thor shakes his head, and gasps sharply before backing up a step, "No, _no. _I can't, I'm sorry, Loki," He flexes his left hand and Loki's eyes widen, his hands lifting weakly towards his sibling.

"Thor, _no-"_

Oh, idiot, don't-

Thor shoves the Infinity Gauntlet onto his left hand, and Loki's breath catches in his aching chest as Thor visibly ripples with the waves of power, his veins briefly lighting up with the glow of the Stones before he gasps and nearly topples forward.

Nebula supports his weight, as Gamora levels her sword at Thanos's neck when he makes a move to advance. Thor looks dizzy and Loki knows that he's mouthing something with horror-_how could Thor be so stupid, doesn't he know what the Stones can do to-_but Thor grins a little crookedly at Thanos and raises a trembling hand, stumbling out "_You_ should have gone for the head," before he snaps.


	16. Porcelain: DeletedAlternate Scenes

**Author's Note: Not in any particular order, have fun with navigation. **

**Just as I could find the scenes. If it seems familiar, it probably is. I ended up recycling a lot of stuff, but it's not exactly the same. This isn't everything, but the major things I could remember where I put. ;) **

***NOTE: The word "ELEPHANT" in all caps is not referring to an actual elephant. ****I couldn't remember what word I wanted to use, but to not break the flow of the writing "mode", I just put down ELEPHANT with the intent to find it later. ****This is an un-edited idea mess, so have fun, my stars. ;) **

* * *

Alternate Ending: 

("Tell me who did this." Amma's voice is heavy. Angry. It's so different than the other tones of her soft whispers and gentle baritone. He clings to her skirts desperately, wanting to hide, but can't fight his desire to peak around the soft blue fabric to stare into the washroom.

Ela is sobbing, fists clenched around the sink. She looks bony, the pale skin not hidden beneath her white clothing wrapped tight around muscle. Ela spits blood into the sink.

"Why?" Ela's voice is thick. Wrong. "What will you do?"

"What I have to." Amma's says evenly. Ela lifts up a trembling hand, her left, and slowly lowers the sleeve to her elbow. The pale skin doesn't hide the deformity settled in her forearm. It's dark, ugly, and wrong.

Amma swears darkly, and he releases a slight noise of panic. He grips Amma's skirts tighter, like it will save him from having to look.

Ela breaks down again, crumbling. Screaming. She slams her fist down onto the sink and it shatters into a thousand, broken pieces. The porcelain has shattered into glass, gray and smoking. The charred pieces land at their feet and he looks down into one. His face looks back at him, but it's blurred with his tears.

"I can't feel it!" Ela shouts, slamming her fist against the wall. "I CAN'T FEEL IT! Why do I feel nothing!?"

"Hela," Amma's voice has gained the same coolness as before. She takes a step forward. "Hela, you need to calm down."

"Stop!" Ela shouts, backing up. "They didn't fix me yet. I'm still broken. I'm killing everything without meaning to. I have to go back. I have to…" she collapses to the floor, splayed out like a broken doll. He grabs at Amma tighter, frightened. A fresh wave of sobs washes through Ela.

Amma remains where she is, though he can tell it's with reluctance. "Daughter," her voice is steady, "I will handle them. You aren't going back. I swear on my life."

"Your word means nothing!" Ela grabs a chunk of the broken sink, seemingly oblivious to the fact that water is spurting out from the broken pipe around them. She hurls it towards them, and Amma sweeps him behind her easily, dodging the blast. The world goes dark as her skirts block his vision for a moment.

He trembles.

"You're a liar, just like he is! I hate you! I hate your lies, your stupid reassurances, your ugly child, how you stand by and let it happen, you-"

"I am doing everything I can to keep this family together." Amma interrupts, angry. "I'm trying, I promise."

Another piece of the sink barely misses Amma's head.

"Your love fixes nothing. It never has! Family is a weak corruption. A miserable tie of genetics that I'm stuck with!" Another piece scrapes against the ground as Ela grabs for it, and Amma doesn't dodge. He lets out a yell when it slams into her face and jumps out from behind her skirts in front of Amma.

Ela wouldn't hurt him.

Ela's entire body has frozen. Her face drained of remaining color. She looks from him to Amma several times before her expression darkens again. "You brought him here!?" Now she's screeching. "You idiotic woman!" Ela lurches up to her feet and Amma grabs at his shoulder. "Have you no sense? You know what they did to me!"

"Hela," Amma tries, but Ela isn't listening.

Ela curses violently. "I'm going to kill you. I'm going to kill all of you!" Standing there, dressed in a blood-stained white with her hair missing chunks and cropped short next to her ears, she doesn't look like his sister. She looks deranged. He believes every word. He cries out, and Amma shoves him away from the exit as Ela crosses her hands over her chest forming an "x" and snaps two swords out.

"Thor, go find your Father." Amma says quickly, shoving him.

He remains put stubbornly. "Amma-" he whispers. He wants to tell her that he's frightened. That he doesn't understand why Ela is acting so funny. But the words get caught in his throat and won't come out.

"Go!" Amma demands, and draws a sword from her hip bringing it up to defend against Ela's weapons when they clash together. Amma shoves back against the swords, pushing Ela back into the washroom.

He remains where he is, frozen.

I am afraid. I am afraid of Ela.)

Fingers snap in front of his face and Thor jerks, slamming into the present with a jolt. He looks up suddenly, seeing Hela leaning forward, hand raised in front of his face. She's staring at him with one eyebrow raised in slight annoyance, the other carefully avoiding the game pieces.

It's a paper version of Checkers, a game that baffled him for days when Darcy tried to explain it to him. Once he grasped the concept, he was unbeatable to all but Clint, but that's because Clint cheats on every game he plays.

"It's your turn." Hela says flatly, still poised gracefully over the board. "Are you going to take it?"

"Um." Thor looks down at the ground, then up at her, then down at the ground again. He's sitting cross legged, the ground humming beneath him from the pod's rattling. There in the middle of a lapse between jump points, waiting for a little over a fourth of the suggested time before they continue the journey to Titan.

They only have one jump left.

To say that he's anxious would be an understatement.

"Hey," Hela's voice cuts through the fog again. "Are you with me?"

"Yes." The sound of his voice is strange. It's like he has his hands pinched over his ears. "I'm…" he starts to repeat, but his mind slips back somewhat and he hears the ghosting jerk of a blade being shoved through his mother's stomach.

("I love you my sons.")

His hand slams down on the papers, and then slides, sending most on his side of the board scattering. Hela makes an indignant noise, clearly frustrated. "Hey!"

Thor stumbles over himself, looking at the "board." He found some colored tape in the overhead storage and placed it on the floor when Hela finally agreed to play with him after half an hour of his prodding. He needed a distraction beyond the low humming of the engine. "Sorry." His voice still sounds funny. "Sorry. I wasn't looking."

What did she say? What did he say? What triggered the memory? Unless he's sleeping, they don't come in on their own. He tries to cast his mind back, but finds only a jumbled mess. This memory...this one is different than the others. Sharper. Harder. The others have been blurred, if somewhat distressing, but not enough to make him want to be sick. He hadn't remembered his mother in anything. He wasn't even sure if Frigga and Hela knew each other, but this is evidence enough.

Hela destroyed a bathroom without breaking a sweat. Her knuckle had only to rap against it and then it became little more than chunky dust. So it's not just life she can destroy without making contact.

Ela. Did he really used to call her that?

"I was winning," Hela says, clearly frustrated with his mistake and swipes all the pieces together in the middle of the board. He watches her as if on autopilot as she resets it. "Again. I go first this time."

He blinks, and stares at her. Ela. A forgotten name of a forgotten time.

Hela shoves a piece forward, focus completely centered on the game, oblivious to his thoughts. His memory. Thor moves methodically, pushing the piece of paper forward as a counter to her move.

Hela looks...content. Not happy, but not angry or broken. There's something soft about her features this way, but he knows it won't last. They'll enter the last jump for Titan, and then it will all be over. The small bit of okay will have reached its conclusion until they find Loki again.

And then it's to Midgard and their hopelessly complex politics. This, in all honesty, is probably the breath between storms.

Thor shakes off the memories, and the names, and the confusion wrapped in frustration.

He wants to focus on this game and winning. He wants to leave the weight of his thoughts behind for a few minutes where they won't haunt him. Wants to capture this small moment, because he's afraid that there won't be many more.

He pushes forward, into the game.

Move after move after move. Hela's fustration and bafflement grows as he wins her, again, and she throws up her hands proclaiming this a stupid game and why are the rules so stupid!? before standing up and proclaiming herself finished.

Thor waits patiently. She does it after every round, has for the last ten hours of their journey. Sure enough, his sister returns grumpily, and they play until the computer alerts them of the jump point's arrival. Thor's hands still over the gameboard, a tightness growing in his chest. Titan. Now. Here. It-

(Hela said "queen me", not "king me." It's why he slipped.)

000o000

Titan is...Thor doesn't know. Dirtier than he thought it would be? It's certainly not the spiraling towers of Asgard, or the breathtaking mountainsides of Alfheim. It's a shabby, small world, rundown and broken. There are corpses turned to bone and dust scattered across the fields, buildings in need of repair stretching through the abandoned cities.

The air holds a thick grayish tinge that blocks the viser, like the very earth itself has become a fine powder the most delicate of winds can kick up. Thankfully, it's not bad enough to be a hindrance to the landing.

Not really.

Thor uses the scanners to do a quick check of lifeforms-trying to determine where to land. They don't have time to search an entire planet-and is surprised to see there's a little more than twenty present. He really only expected one or two. Maybe the odd wildlife and Loki. Perhaps the planet is not as discrete as he was first thinking, or was told in his youth.

"There's smoke over there," Hela says before they land, her finger pointing to the arching, thick wisp of it. "Loki?"

"Maybe." Thor agrees, steering the pod in that direction. "It looks too big to be a fire."

"Maybe he crashed." Hela suggets flatly.

Given Loki's piloting skills, Thor wouldn't be surprised. Loki is a terrible pilot. He crashes anything he flies more often than not and can't seem to grasp the concept of how sensitive everything is. He's a scientist. Loki can fly something to save a life, everyone in the army can, but as far as performing aerial maneuvers as complicated as something in one of Midgard's movies? No.

"Maybe something did." Thor mutters. It could have been Thanos for all they know. Maybe he's a good torturer, but a worse pilot than their brother. They lapse into silence, the humming of the pod the only noise that accompanies them. Thor lands the pod about a mile from the smoke, turning down the engines and letting it shut down automatically. He lets his hands linger on the controls, breathing out stiffly.

Loki, they can only hope and pray, is here and alive.

But remaining here, hiding in the dark like a coward, will not help him answer any of his questions. Thor glances at his sister before getting up to his feet and slamming a hand down on the button to lower the ramp. Daylight splits across the back, and Thor moves towards it, hand on his sword hilt.

There's the distinct sound of Hela drawing a weapon, and his sister steps up into view beside him. "Thor," she calls. He stops, and looks back at her, somewhat surprised to see a double bladed axe in her hands. It's sleek and black, with a shine that suggests it hasn't been used before, but is well taken care of. The edge of the blade gleams in the poor lighting. She offers it out to him, hilt first. "It's not exactly Mjolnir, but it will serve you well."

Mjolnir. Thor's heart gives a funny lurch at the name. He reaches out and clasps the cold, smooth handle. He takes it from her and holds it for a moment, determining the weight. Perfectly balanced, but light enough to not lose power on the swing. He lifts his gaze to her and lifts an eyebrow slightly. "You should know that this doesn't make up for destroying my hammer. I'm still angry about that. Very angry."

He loved that hammer. Stupid sentiment attached to a stupid object, but it was the first thing that Odin ever gave him. There will always, Thor thinks, be that small part of him that can never shake the small glimpses of love that Odin would give him. That hammer...it was attached to many.

Hela's lip twitches up. "Good. I'd be disappointed if you weren't." He shoves her arm good naturedly in annoyance. Hela smiles faintly. It doesn't seem to be a conscious action, and Thor doubletakes because of the oddity of it. Hela doesn't smile-truly smile. He doesn't know if he's ever seen her...well, happy before.

000o000

It takes them well over twenty minutes to reach the source of the smoke. As Hela suggested, it is a ship, but not one of the Statesmen's pods. It's charred and broken, in multiple chunks. The debris is scattered, but the weird thing is that there are no skid marks. It looks like the ship landed calmly, managed to even set out the landing gear and contemplate whether or not self-destructing was a good idea before deciding it was and imploding.

Beyond that ship is another, fully intact. The engines are off, suggesting its been here for some time. A thin little spire of smoke suggests a fire, and he and Hela scour the area surrounding it for a vantage point. He can't see the escape pod anywhere, but he can sense, weirdly enough, that Loki is here.

The closer they draw the fire, the heavier the air seems to become. A compression settles on his chest, like he's been standing inside of the Treasury Room for too long and the powerful objects are weighing on him. He has to remind himself to breathe deeply several times, because his chest just wants to sit still and give up.

It's too hard, it seems to whine, I don't want to do this anymore.

Shut up.

Great. Now he's talking for his body parts. When was the last time he slept deeply? Is it the planet's natural oxygen supply, or is there something out there?

He and Hela manage to find an outcropping on top of an abandoned building someways back from the ship. They're close enough to pick up bits of conversation and see the people, but not enough to be seen.

It's a group of four. One is a large purple-red figure that would easily dwarf Thor by a good two feet if he was standing. He's seated beside a large, double-bladed sword that Thor can easily see was a mistake of a weapon choice. The handle in the middle will off-set both blades, and it wouldn't move easily, dragging at almost every possible second with the hoods on the end. There's a reason that staffs and spears are thin and pointed at the ends.

But that's an advantage for them. Purple's weapon will make him a slow fighter. He uses power over speed.

Another is a large man with a face that reminds Thor vaguely of one of Earth's starfish. Erik had a collection of them at one point, Thor was both fascinated and disgusted all at once. His weapon is something like a club. The other is a woman with long blue hair. A spear is beside her, but it's forked at the edges.

Lastly, seated in between the woman and the starfish man is "Loki," Thor breathes, his stomach twisting is both relief and dread. One of those creatures has to be Thanos. If he had to guess, he'd say the purple one. The others just don't...look like a Thanos, stupid as that is.

Thor drinks in the sight of his brother as best he can. From what he can tell, Loki is still in his Jotun form, a little bloody, and barefoot. He's missing the outer layers of his armor, leaving him in only a simple shirt and trousers. He doesn't appear to be bond in any way, but he isn't moving.

He starts to get up, grabbing his axe, but Hela catches his shoulder and yanks him back down. "No." She whispers harshly.

"It's just three of them." Thor argues just as quiet, frustrated. "We can take them. You took out the Kings Legion, surely you're not afraid of three creatures."

Hela sends him a nasty look that could and would have withered a living plant. He snaps his jaw shut beneath the stare. "Look," she jerks her head pointedly in Probably-Thanos's direction. Thor's gaze flicks up with irritation, but he nonetheless settles back down and stares at the Titan again. He's not wearing armor, the weapon still annoys him, but-

A glint of metal catches his attention, and Thor feels color drain from his face. Thanos is wearing a gauntlet on his left hand, created in gleaming gold. The tint of it reminds him of Gungnir, and the craftsmanship of the Dwarfs of Nidavellir. The two are unrelated, but it still makes his heart twist and long for simpler times.

But it's not the glove that unsettles him. Seated within small ridges along the knuckles is glowing orbs. Thor has only seen a handful of the Infinity Stones in person, most are over text and the illusions his mother would cast, but he knows them well enough. The battered sunlight catches the edge of at least four.

Red, yellow, purple, and something else he can't see.

Thor curses under his breath heavily, his fist curling in frustration. Four? How are they supposed to fight four Stones? Thor doesn't even know if he could beat one successfully. Thanos seems to have suffered no ill-effects from carrying them on his person, even though the very power running through his blood should have torn his body and mind apart.

Only beings of incredible strength can hold them. Fewer wield them.

And Thanos has four.

Curse it!

"We don't know what he can do with them," Hela whispers. She reminds him of Loki suddenly, the need to watch first, assess, and then attack. "We should watch for a little. We have our brother in our sights, there's nothing they can do here that we couldn't stop if the need arrives."

Thor doesn't want to wait.

Waiting always gets those he loves killed.

(Every. Freaking. Time.)

He hesitates, but submits after a moment, seeing her logic. He may be stupid, and impulsive, but he's not enough of that to mess around with Infinty Stones. "Alright," he complies. He looks back at the group, brow furrowing. "Why are they waiting?"

"That's what I'm wondering," Hela sighs, "I've led armies before." So has he. He knows what this looks like, and it doesn't feel him with reassurance.

"Scout." Thor mutters.

"Or someone else is a little late." Hela whispers pointedly. Thor's stomach sinks. They quiet. Watching. Waiting.

Thor's fingers go numb from laying in the same position for so long and his shoulder blades grow oddly stiff. He wonders with sudden fury how Clint can remain in the same position for so long. Or Loki. He was always their long distance sniper when Thor was with the Warriors and Sif.

All things considered, the group doesn't really...do much. Thor was expecting a little more activity, more talking, but they seem content to sit and brood into the purple flames of their camp fire. Loki doesn't shift even once, and it worries him. Maybe he does and Thor can't see it from this distance, but the woman and the starfish-man get up to walk around the camp separately at least three times.

Their impatience is obvious.

Thor picks up bits of conversation regarding someone "taking so long. How hard is it to find him!?" and the woman impatiently snapping, "I should have gone myself, at least he'd be here by now."

Thanos placates them with words Thor doesn't pick up, and Loki still does nothing.

Time wanes on.

Thor's entire body begins to ache from doing nothing, and he wishes that Thanos would use the stupid Stones so they could stop sitting here, being useless. In reality, it's probably only been a little over an hour and a half, but every moment that Loki is kept within their captivity makes his skin crawl. They aren't doing anything to him, but that almost makes it worse.

The sun begins to set, casting long shadows over Titan. The light glints off of the buildings and leaves everything with a dim red-amber glow.

At last, Thor sees two silhouettes appear in the distance and he and Hela watch two people stride into camp. A tall man with a flat nose looking worse for wear, and a tall, bulky one. He reminds Thor of Korg.

"Do you think that's them?" Thor whispers. The sound of his voice is like a weapon being discharged after so long and Hela visibly winces, glancing towards him. Her lips press together, but she says nothing.

Flat-nose takes a deep bow before Thanos, and the bulky Not-Korg follows suit. They appear to exchange words before Thanos sweeps an arm towards Loki, and Thor sees a flare of the red Stone-reality, his mind supplies. Loki crumples into the dirt a moment later, and Thor feels himself getting up, grabbing for the axe. Hela follows, eyes narrowed.

It wasn't physical chains, then, that held their brother, but an Infinity Stone.

Thanos has used the Stones. They may not know the full extent like they hoped by doing recon, but it doesn't matter. If Thanos thinks that he or one of his goons can lay a finger on their brother, he's sorely mistaken. Hela, for once, appears to be thinking the same as him.

Flat-nose approaches Loki steadily as the woman comes closer. The darkness makes it hard to see exactly what she does, but he's guessing she's pinning their brother into place for Flat-nose to...do whatever it is Thanos wants him, too.

Thor turns to her. "On three," he mouths, gripping his axe in both hands. She nods, flicking her wrist to summon a long sword. She takes it into both hands, eyes thinned and narrowed. "One," he whispers, "two...thr-" he stops, confused and his hand falters. Footsteps. Behind them.

A weapon powers up, familiar. It throws him, because he doesn't know any of these people beyond his brother, so why would he-

A hand wraps around his mouth and yanks him back. Thor makes a muffled noise of surprise, tumbling into the chest of his captor without meaning to. He scarce has time to attempt to reach for his weapon before Hela whirls, blade grasped in both hands and swipes it towards his captor.

He's jerked back a step, and stumbles over his feet.

Hela tries again, but doesn't aim for his captor, suggesting more than one person is there. Her weapon slams against something, and amber-ish sparks go flying through the air. Hela skitters back a few steps, slicing through a white fluid aimed for her face. It sticks to the sides of her blade like a stain.

Hela's eyes are rapidly flitting back and forth as she assesses this.

Thor manages to find his footing and yanks the hand off of his mouth, twisting around to stand beside his sister, lifting his axe as he lets the core of electricity within him burn. His vision heights, senses going onto overdrive as he prepares to utilize the power and-

Thor stops.

His axe falters as the others' weapons-save his sister-do the same. Because isn't just one man. It's three. Two older adults, and a youth. Thor recognizes the adults instantly, his brain halting for a brief moment as if so confused it can't comprehend this and gave up. Thor feels his jaw fall open. What are the odds…?

They stare at each other in flabbergasted silence for a long few seconds before "Thor?" Tony croaks quietly. In the dark, Thor makes out the features of his teammate as best he can. He has a cut down the side of his face that's bleeding sluggishly, blood leaking to his chin and staining his nose. His brown hair is tousled and his facial hair unkempt. There are dark rings beneath his eyes as if he hasn't slept in a few days and his face holds a waxy, hungry air. He looks awful, but the familiarity makes Thor's throat go hot.

"Stark." Thor says, breathlessly.

What are the odds?

"You're missing an eye." Tony pulls his hands back, the repulsors-and their light-powering down. The familiar noise makes him stare long and hard for a second, because that is what distracted him. The repulsors, a noise he hasn't heard in well over a year. The Wizard's-Strange or something, wasn't it?-shields drop and he releases an audible breath of relief. The other figure, a pale young man with brown hair and dressed in red armor, looks only confused, but nonetheless relaxes when Tony does.

The Wizard is sporting more than a dozen puncture marks, blood staining his blue robes. The youth looks a little worse for wear, one hand on his abdomen. He's shaky and sweaty, like he's running a high-grade fever. Thor doesn't know who he is, but there's a spider plastered on the front of the suit; It reminds him of Natasha.

Something deep within his core aches suddenly and deeply for his team.

There are so many things he wants to say, but he doesn't even know what to begin with. How did they get here? What are they doing here? Why did they leave Earth? Are they aware that they are days from Earth now? Thor's gaze flicks to the Wizard. Why would they bring the Time Stone to a planet with Thanos?

Thor may not have the sensitivity to magical arts that Loki does, but it doesn't take much to sense Infinity Stones. The very presence of it is oily and thick, like some sort of tar he has to shove his way through. He's known that the Wizard had the Stone since before Surtur. He felt its power when he stepped inside the Wizard's home. He hadn't commented on it because it wasn't relevant, but he knew it was there. There are-were, Asgard's gone, by the Allfathers he will never get used to referring to it in the past tense=-stories of Bor giving the Time Stone to Midgard for safekeeping.

He doesn't know how much truth there is to them.

An Infinity Stone.

Like the Tesseract. looks between them, his gut clenching. He wants to keep talking, but they don't have time. Flat-nose is going to do something to their brother.

"I don't mean to interrupt this happy reunion," Hela's voice is a harsh whisper, but catches his attention easily enough. Her weapon is still raised, and Thor lifts out a hand to touch the tip of it to push it down. She doesn't even look at him. "But who are all of you supposed to be?"

Tony glances at Thor for a brief moment and then to Hela, shifting somewhat in front of the youth. The action is subtle enough that if Thor wasn't drinking in every familiar movement like a drowning man, he wouldn't have noticed it. "Yeah, I was wondering the same thing about you, Bellatrix."

Hela glances at Thor for help, obviously confused.

Thor bites harder on his inner cheek. It feels raw and mangled now. He shakes his head, deciding that explaining the concept of Harry Potter to her isn't worth the time or effort it would take right now. They need to get to Loki and then hack off Thanos's arm to take the Gauntlet.

The tension is thick, but awkward for a moment until Thor elbows Hela in the side pointedly. She startles, glaring at him darkly for a moment, but surprisingly makes no retaliation. "I'm Hela, the goddess of death."

"Oh. Okay. Asgardian." Tony doesn't sound comforted by this. "I'm Tony Stark. This is Dr. Strange," he gestures to the Wizard and then the youth, "and Spider-Man."

Spider-Man? Really?

"Hello." Spider-Man mutters, face contorting. His hand presses against his stomach harder. Is he injured? What happened? How long have they been here? How did they get involved with the Stones?

"It's 'Hela'." Hela sneers.

"Nevermind that," Tony shakes his head, taking a step forward, "Thor," Tony's voice is heavy. "Thor, there's something out there. A threat that we can't fight. We weren't ready. He's coming. He-"

"Thanos." Thor blurts before he can stop himself. Tony stops, surprised.

The Wizard's stance grows wary. "How do you know that name?"

Thor feels himself stiffen. "He…" how can he begin to explain what Thanos has done? He sent Loki, he is the reason that Loki left. The reason for so much slaughter and pain. Thanos...

Hela, thankfully, points out the obvious, jerking her hand behind them. "He's right there. What do you think we're here for? An afternoon stroll? This is a little ways from Asgard. Thor." She looks at him pointedly. He knows, he knows. They don't have time for this. But he can't..

Asgard. Asgard is no longer there. None of the Avengers but Bruce know that. Tony doesn't even know that Bruce is alive.

Dr. Strange's jaw tightens. "We need to compare notes." Tony says at long last, looking at him. He knew the question was coming, but that doesn't make him any more willing to talk about it. "What do you know about Thanos? You go and then I'll explain what's going on on our end."

"No. We don't have time." Thor shakes his head. "We need to kill Thanos before it's too late." Thor mutters. Before the damage that the Titan has inflicted is permanent. Before Loki is... "We...probably don't know much more than you do anyway. The only person I know who had one-on-one experience is…"

"Is...?" Tony prompts, looking hopeful. Thor hates to dash it, but he doesn't really have a choice.

"With Thanos." He has to force the words from his throat. They make his mouth hot. You don't have time for this, a voice calls in a sing-song inside his head, Loki doesn't have time for this.

Dr. Strange swears under his breath.

"My sentiments exactly." Hela's voice is flat. "I was actually starting to like the little fífl. Thor."

"His name is Loki. You know that now." She makes a face at him, but Thor refuses to rise to the bait.

The realization seems to strike Tony at last because he does something close to a full body twitch, "Loki is alive? Since when?"

"Birth." Hela answers, fidgeting on her feet.

"You know what, Hades-" Tony snaps, turning to face her angrily, but Spider-Man grabs his arm and the anger seems to drain from Tony in one gust of air.

"Mr. Stark?" Spider-Man's voice is a little higher than Thor thought it would be. He's young. Probably not even eighteen Midgardian standard years. "This can wait. We need to deal with Thanos first, right? Then we can beat each other up."

Tony hestisitates, but blows out a heavy breath and nods. "The kid's right. We can catch up later. Okay, run down. Big bad is down there," he gestures beyond their vantage point, "we're up here. He has Stones, plural, we have Stone. He has at least Mind and the purple one."

"Power?" Dr. Strange supplies dryly.

Thor frowns, his stomach clenching. "He took the Mind Stone from Vision?"

Tony closes his eyes briefly and gives a jerky nod. "Yeah. Cap called it in. They found Vision and Maximoff's bodies a few days ago. We don't know how long they've been missing officially. At most is a couple of weeks."

Thor blows out a breath between his teeth. This is bad. "I think he was missing only two Stones." He admits. "Probably Time and Soul, but I didn't get a good look."

Because nobody knows where Soul is, and Dr. Strange is wearing Time.

"Great." Spider-Man mutters, hand fisted close to his stomach. The sarcasm in his voice pretty much summarizes the entire situation better than any words Thor could have spoken would have. "So what's the plan?"

They look between each other. The silence stretches for a long minute before Hela blows out a long sigh. "You aren't going to like it, but I think I might have something." She curls her fingers, pointing towards the Time Stone with her sword. "It involves that."

"No." Dr. Strange says flatly. "It is my duty to guard the Time Stone. I will not put it in harm's way. Not if it can be avoided. Thanos doesn't need any more advantage that he already has. If he only needs two Stones, then-"

"Did I say that we were going to give it to him?" Hela interrupts. Dr. Strange stops, looking at her. She tips her head slightly, glances at Thor, and then turns back to Dr. Strange. "Like I said, it isn't going to be pretty, but no one but Thanos should end up dead by the end of it."

Tony releases a long, weighted breath. "I can live with that. Explain."

And she would have, but then the screaming starts. And it's not just some random fellow meeting their unfortunate end. Thor knows that voice like he knows his own name.

Loki.

You waited to long, that same voice sneers, congratulations. You get to bury your brother for the third time.

Hela grabs his arm as Thor moves for the edge of the building, pulling him to a stop. "Wait. These are the Stones, not some random thing we can kill."

"Loki-"

"I know!" she exclaims harshly. "Listen to me."

000o000

Thor lets out a roar and dives forward, axe flying towards the Titan's front. If he'd been thinking clearly, Thor might have done something different, but rage is blinding. More so than any loss of his eyes had been. This is pure, energetic hate.

Thanos saw it coming. He turns just in time-as if the fates warned him themselves-and lifts up the Infinity Gauntlet the real one, not the one Father professed to have and the blade of the axe merely scratches the metal, landing at the Titan's well-worn boots.

Thor hadn't been prepared for that. He'd expected to impale the Asgardian in the chest, dig his blade into the creature had suffered for everything he'd done to Loki. To all others. Until-until-

Those plans no longer matter.

He lands on his feet in front of the Titan, still buzzing with electricity. His hand reaches for the weapon; but he recalculates. He can still create enough force to impale the Titan, even without the added assistance of throwing it. His fingers brushes the tip of the handle before Thanos's large hand wraps around it and tears it from the earth. The weapon isn't Mjolnir. There is no spell to bind it to the worthy, there is only the craft that Hela poured into it. And it isn't enough.

"Asgardian." Thanos's deep voice rumbles. "King, if my sources are true."

Thor hears the sound of Tony's repulsors firing in the background as a distraction for the goons, as planned, and Spider-Man assisting in that endeavor. Hela was supposed to retrieve Loki as Thor killed Thanos. A simple plan, really, but everything becomes more complex when Infinity Stones get involved.

King?

The only way Thanos would know that is if Loki talked. And Loki wouldn't just talk about that. Thor's incense grows. Lightning dances along the tips of his hands. His blood is burning, and Thor needs to release before he charrs his insides. Loki, his mind pleads, think of Loki. Don't be rash. You need him safe.

He needs Thanos's head on a pike.

Keep his attention on you, not the others.

"You'll die for what you did!" Thor exclaims, his voice like a sharp crackle of lightning.

"I've done nothing but prepare for the task ahead of me," Thanos says simply. "Do you know where we are, King?"

Thor scoffs, "The ruins of your race?"

"The first in a great line of sacrifices," Thanos corrects, almost gently. It makes him sick. Please be moving quickly, Thor begs of his sister. He can't look back without drawing more attention to her. "After they banished me, I returned with an army," Thanos explains, "and I sacrificed them. They were, I think, happy, in the end. To know that I saved them."

"With genoicide?"

"Salvation." Thanos has the temerity to smile, and Thor's to-thin patience snaps. Withers. Dies. He tears lightning down from the heavens and Thanos has only time to raise the Gauntlet before it blasts into him at full force. Thor slams his fist as hard as he can into Thanos's gut and grabs for the axe when the Titan stumbles back. He raises the weapon, prepares for a near-kill shot and-

Stops.

His limbs have frozen, still and unmoving. Paralysis, surrounded by a blue-ish light. Panic creeps into his stomach, threatening to eat him through and through. Thor is reminded of when he was younger and Loki was still manifesting. How even barely able to walk, Loki's power was great. They would play, as best they were able. Once Loki touched him mindlessly, and Thor had been frozen for nearly ten minutes as Loki weeped for their mother and nursemaid.

They had been able to do nothing.

As Thor is now unable.

It is the work of the Tesseract. Thanos reaches forward and grabs him by the throat, lifting him up. Thor feels almost plucked, like one would do to a flower in the middle of a field. His touch reignites Thor's limbs and he struggles, grabbing at the Titan's forearm in a desperate attempt to ease the pressure on his neck. The electricity on his limbs seems to be nothing more than a vague annoyance to the Titan.

His chest is compressing.

Thanos throws him to the rocky floor. Thor lands with a thud and Thanos's boot smashes against his chest. It's heavy. Thor's flailing arms lift to raise it, but it keeps getting heavier. He's being crushed.

Weapon.

Weapon, he needs-

(He was supposed to get the Stones. One man verses four Stones? This was the stupidest plan ever. Thanks for that contribution, Tony.)

His ribcage snaps, and Thor screams. He hears several people call his name and feels as his insides are pierced by bone, and sees-once his vision has stopped going white-as Thanos gives a slight smile. He makes a gasping noise, glawing at the dirt desperately.

Weapon, weapon, weapon-

Thanos grabs him up by the throat again, and sighs softly, before walking forward a few steps. Thor sways in the grip, despite his best efforts to hold still to prevent any rubbing. It doesn't work, his insides smearing together.

"Thor!" Tony calls, panicked. Thor's too exhausted to look up, he can't breathe. His lungs aren't working. He's going to die starving for air. "Hang on a sec and then-shoot. Parker!"

"On it, Mr. Stark!"

Thor sees Hela, holding Loki upright with one of his arms swung around her shoulders, standing still. She's still gripping her sword and looking to him with something wide-eyed, but angry. Leave me. This is for Loki.

He tastes blood and acid.

Acid blood?

"Oh, darling," Hela's voice is silk, "you're just a mess of poor decisions."

"Am I?" Thanos is steady taking another step. Thor scrambles to grip harder, a noise escaping the back of his throat as his ribs chaff. He's always had a rather high tolerance for pain, but this is exceeding even the worst injuries he can remember. Even laying in the desert sand with the Destroyer's wounds dug deep into his chest.

Hela's head tips, and there's something predatory in her stance. "Every broken bone on him is a severed body part on you. Remember that."

"Your threats mean nothing to me. I don't even know who you are." Thanos admits. He sounds unconcerned, and for some reason this irritates Thor. He shouldn't even have time to feel irritated amid everything else.

"His sister." Hela's voice is dangerous.

"I see," Thanos takes another step, and Thor releases a small noise. "Then I'll make you a deal, Asgardian. If you want you and your lying snake of a sibling to survive this, kill your king."

Loki's face goes white.

"What?" Hela sounds uncertain. "You're mad. I'm not going to kill my brother-"

"Of course you are." Thanos corrects, "Because Loki has told me about you, and I know that you're a selfish creature. You get to choose. Your life, and your brother's for the price of his. It's not that hard to factor in."

Thor can see Hela thinking. Weighing the odds. He squeezes his eye shut, submitting himself to this. Norns, I hope you were right. Strange better know what he's doing.

"'Ela," Loki's voice is a rasp. "Don't-"

"My child," Thanos sighs, "there is no point in trying to save those who do not deserve it. You are a killer. We all are. I understand loss. Let me help you. I can help. I want to help. Your brother is dead."

"Fine."

"'Ela-"

Thanos doesn't deter. Thor's thrown and rolls several times before coming to a stop. He skids to a stop and lays there, gasping for breath that isn't coming. Thor is gasping, fingers clawing into the dirt.

He doesn't feel right.

His lungs are…

He doesn't feel right.

His lungs scream and Thor feels something collapse inside, a sort of wetness spilling out, but it's not anything exterior.

A shadow falls over him and Thor jerks his head, seeing Hela above him. A panicked noise slips from his throat and he grabs at sedir desperately, feeling the familiar hum of lightning, but shoves it back when it doesn't do anything but make him ache.

Loki. Where is Loki? Where is their brother?

Hela squats down next to him, weapon in hand. One of Loki's daggers, though Thor doesn't know where she got it. Her eyes are strangely red and her breath hard and fast. She lifts the dagger and he gives a crooked grin he's sure is full of blood.

"Do you trust me?" she questions quietly. Thor reaches up and grasps her forearm, tipping his head down. It's the best nod he can give. Loki is speaking behind them, some sort of pleading that Thor can't pick much out of, but it won't matter anyway.

Blood gurgles in his throat, and Thor's hands tremble. Something is broken inside of him. Something that can't be fixed. It's too late for him. Thanos did more damage than he first thought. Thor thinks if he tries to get up he'll break something else.

"Hela, please-" Loki is sobbing, but his voice sounds wrong. Croaking and dry. "Please don't-"

Thor exhales.

He nods again and closes his eye, letting himself breathe out one last time. Hela's fingers press against his temples, and he feels the strange lurch as his body spasms beneath her touch. (I am afraid of Ela.) She doesn't need to stab him to kill him, she can merely touch and it will-

Thor doesn't finish the thought.

He doesn't inhale. The last thing he hears is Loki's crying pleads, but in the end...it didn't save anyone.

Chapter Eleven:

("Hela...this is your new brother, Loki."

"You weren't expecting."

Frigga's smile is sad, "He's not mine, daughter." She murmurs softly. She doesn't doubt that. She just saw her stepmother not three months past when Father returned her to Asgard. Frigga wasn't bulky enough for a pregnancy that far along. But a spur of the moment adoption doesn't seem very like her, either.

Or Father.

"Whose is he?" she questions with trepidation. Frigga's smile grows tighter.

"I'll tell you later." She shifts, leaning out her arms for her to take the babe, but she doesn't know if she wants to. If she can. What will happen if she touches this innocent life? Green eyes stare up at her, big and tired. She sighs with resentment and lifts the babe from her stepmother into her arms.

The weight is small, but the babe leans towards her, tired. Trusting.

"Do you like brother!?" Thor hops up to her, grabbing at her leg. She flinches, her entire body seizing, but the physical touch does not make her cower back the way it would have before Laufey. "He's so small and breakable." Thor says this cheerfully, but he's biting on his lower lip in discomfort at the thought.

She adjusts her grip on the little one and glances down at the blond, muttering an annoyed curse under her breath. Frigga shoots her a pointed look, but she doesn't care. It's not like she's going to be a good influence on these two anyway. She's not exactly booming with traits they'd want to grow up with.

"He's...something." She says at last.

Thor grips her leg tighter. "Don't let him go. Amma said if I let 'im go he won't come back. Are you going to let me go?"

Yes. She can't stand another minute under this household.

"No." She says, re-adjusting her grip again. She's not a big sister type. She's not even good at being a sister. Or a daughter. "I'll shove you instead. How about that?"

Thor thinks about it, even though Frigga looks mildly horrified at the suggestion. "I guess that would be okay." Thor agrees, "So long as you'll be there to catch us both.")

000o000

Thor falls limp beneath Hela's touch, and Loki...snaps.

There's a dark, coiled part inside of him that can resist no more and, with a feral cry, he dives forward, ignoring his broken forearm, his battered body and bruised magic. He ignores the practical part of him that suggests this isn't the wisest idea, the part that wants to sit in shock or grieve.

Vengeance is all he can focus on.

Loki tackles her into the ground beside their brother's body and wrestles his dagger from her grip. "How could you?!" his voice is raw from screaming. The words hurt as they come up. Good. Hela fights him, but not enough that Loki takes her seriously. It angers him further.

She kills their brother without even resisting and can't have the courage to face him?

Coward!

"He was your brother-" my brother "-he gave everything so you would be alive, you monster!"

He wants to scream. Wants to cry. To fall apart and not have to pick himself back up again. Hela shoves him off her, but Loki gets up quickly, undeterred. She's breathing heavy, but glances up for the briefest moment. First to Thanos, and then beyond him. "I did what I had to." She says smoothly. Calmly, like the blood that taints her hands doesn't include family. Her eyes lock with his. "You'd never have believed this if I didn't."

"Believed-I KNOW THIS IS REAILTLY! YOU JUST KILLED MY BROTHER!"

Monster. Demon. Why did he ever think to save her!? Why did he think that would be okay? That she could ever change? That she would spare them? That-

He dives for her again, and they wrestle briefly, but he gains the upper hand quickly, burning the flesh of her neck with his skin before he spins the knife and plunges it into her chest. Her heart. He yanks it out and then stabs again and again and again-

Hela jerks, making a slight noise, but tears the weapon out when he finally leaves it, breathing hard, and feels at the blood for a moment. She sighs, like this is only an annoyance and wipes the blood on her face, above her lips, before looking up at him. She, he remembers suddenly, can't feel pain. She doesn't know…

Good, a part of him sneers.

She killed Thor.

He wants to scream.

He didn't stab her enough.

She reaches forward and rests a hand on his cheek, blood smearing down his blue skin. "A kill shot." She smiles faintly, "At long last. I knew...knew you wouldn't let me down." She tumbles back to the earth, tainted, bloody, and exhales once as if in relief.

She's dead. He stabbed her fifteen times. There's blood all over his dagger and his hands.

He breathes out long and hard, looking to Thor's corpse and then his sister's back and forth until he glances to his hands and feels horror wash through him. Oh Norns. He just killed his sister. He just…

(Thor is dead.)

He just killed his sister.

(Thor is not coming back.)

He just-

(Thor. Thor. Thor.)

"I told you that if you failed, you would suffer." Thanos says softly to his left, but Loki is too numb with tears and pain to care. "You have nothing to lose anymore. Give me the Tesseract."

He just-he'd assumed that the Other meant more torture. He wouldn't go back, not...but this...he does long for the pain. He longs for it more than anything else in this life or the next because (his brother is dead. He murdered his sister. His family is gone. Loki is alone. He-) this is so much worse than anything he could have imagined. Anything his nightmares conjured or-

What the-!?

The world lurches around him. Loki's breath escapes him sharply as his vision spins and blurs the faintest moan escaping the earth as his hands move without his consent, and he hears Thanos murmur something behind him. Hela lurches up, face white and eyes red with regret and pain. Her hand lifts to his face, slides off of it.

His dagger plunges into her fifteen more times, but every time it exits the skin and armor are repaired.

He can't move by his own restraint. He doesn't understand-

The dagger returns to Hela's grasp. He tumbles backwards towards his position where she left him when Thanos dropped Thor. Hela's fingers once again touch their brother, and Thor breathes. Thanos takes him. Drags him backwards. Hela returns to him, supporting him. The entire world is spinning, whirring, wrong and he can't-

What is happening!?

He can't breathe.

Time isn't meant to move like this.

It's like it's…

It's going…

Backwards.

It's the last coherent thought he has before the world stops moving all together.

000o000

Loki bites on his tongue to stop his screaming, but blood only pools in his mouth. Midnight yanks on the broken limb again, twisting his wrist up to his shoulder blades. Something dangerously close to a whimper sounds in his throat, and his face heats with humiliation.

"Try to run again and I'll take your entire hand. Thanos doesn't need you whole." She hisses.

He flinches at how close she is, but the movement only jars his limb and elects another moan from him.

"Child of Asgard," Ebony's voice is soft, moving towards him. Loki releases a shallow breath, his heart hammering against his ribcage in panic. For freedom. Midnight's fingers wrap tighter around his skin, keeping him pinned into place.

His arm is burning.

"My father tells me that we have need"-Ebony's long fingers touch his forehead, running down his bloody hair-"to merge our minds again. I really thought you would have known better than to withhold things from him now."

As if it was by choice.

Loki narrows his eyes, sorely tempted to spit in his face. But he'd rather keep his tongue. Thanos wields the Reality Stone. Loki's not desperate enough to go against that again. Ebony hums softly, pressing his fingers against Loki's forehead. "Give it willingly, or I'll take it from your corpse."

Loki closes his eyes, releasing a breath of defeat.

"Fine." Ebony pushes and Loki feels his shields crumple faster than they ever have in the past. There is a brief moment where he frantically tries to rearrange the placing of his mind, pushing thoughts to the back, yanking sensations forward. He keeps memories in the middle, a shield between his thoughts, but grabs at context and tears what he can backwards.

Ebony pushes through all of this, focused only on one prize: his cache. If he can reach that, he might be able to yank the Tesseract from him entirely. Might. Loki doesn't think it will work. He knows too much about sedir to have a different opinion. They'll have to kill him first, and Ebony will draw the same conclusion Loki refused to tell Thanos.

Thanos, who waited for his loyal dog to appear after his attempts to pull the Stone failed.

Thanos who-

The pain is getting harder to think through. He feels exposed. Raw. Ebony keeps pushing and pushing, shifting through the sensations and memories, looking. He must be an idiot to think he'll get anything this way. Thanos has already been with the Mind Stone. There's nothing here for Ebony to parse that the Master has not already.

Ebony is getting frustrated. It's radiating across the telepathic link easily.

Loki feels savagely pleased by this.

His sedir cries out in pain suddenly as Ebony snatches the frays of it, and Loki's conciseness blinks in and out as the agony makes him falter. He's...cold. He doesn't...this isn't...stop it, stop it, stop it, STOP-

Please-

He can't-

(Help me, help me, help-!)

Why won't-it burns-it stop? Why won't-he can't-there is no air...he's going-drowning. Stopping. Help, help-his mind is...his body is broken. He is not-he is not-not, not…please. He needs-HELP ME!-relief. Needs-

Ebony is yanked out suddenly, and Loki's mind reels as it snaps back into proper order. His thoughts come jumping forward, the memories slipping into their whole state. The meager, charred defenses shoot back up as protection.

Loki's consciousness snaps back into his body properly, and he tumbles forward into awaiting arms. The hands pull him forward. His throat feels raw. He was screaming. He looks up, coughing and trying to gain his footing, but his feet feel funny. His entire body does.

Hela keeps pulling him. His stomach lurches in relief and horror. (You killed my brother!) What is she doing here? How did she get here? Why is she here?

"Sis…" He tries, but voice breaks.

"Spare me your sentiment," Hela demands, ducking as a stray blast shoots over her head. That looked like-Loki twists, glancing up and sees Stark hovering in the air. The exhausted part of his mind just nods and accepts this too tired to complain, but the rest is incredulous. When did Thor have time to collect a Midgadian?

No-there's another one.

Two Midgardians, then.

"Can you walk?" Hela asks. He shakes his head, not sure if he can trust his voice. He hears the clap of thunder and sees a lightning bolt being called down from the heavens. Thor. This...is a rescue.

They...came...for him.

They actually…they came for him. Thanos is going to kill them. (You killed my brother!)

Hela pulls him up, swinging his arm around her shoulders. He leans heavily into her, the world swaying. He thinks he's going to be sick. His head aches with a fiery passion he hasn't felt in an age. A blade feels like it's being driven up through the base of his skull until it pierces through his brain and explodes out the top.

"Listen carefully," Hela pulls him forward. "We need to get up there. We're using a-"

Thor lets out a scream of agony and both of them whirl, twisting around to look back as Thanos grabs their brother up by the throat and hauls him into the air. Loki feels his face drain of color, but Hela only tightens beside him. She twists the sword she's holding, her body bracing for a fight.

"Thor!" Stark calls, panicked. "Hang on a sec and then-shoot. Parker!"

"On it, Mr. Stark!"

Thanos is smirking, eyeing Loki with a smugness that seems all to fitting of him. Thor is squirming in the grip, hands clawing against the arm to no avail. Thor looks...helpless, and Loki hates it. Thor is never helpless. For all Loki mocks his brute strength and lack of thinking, there have been few enemies that Thor hasn't been able to defeat with it.

Thanos is going to kill his brother. (You killed my brother!)

"Oh, darling," Hela's voice is silk, "you're just a mess of poor decisions."

"Am I?" Thanos takes another step. Thor's face goes white, his fingers digging into Thanos's skin for support, but it doesn't seem to be helping. Do something, Loki commands of himself, but he's frozen in place. The only thing keeping him upright is Hela.

"Every broken bone in him is a severed body part on you. Remember that."

"Your threats mean nothing to me. I don't even know who you are." Thanos says, flippant.

"His sister." Hela says through teeth. Your murderer goes unsaid, but is implied all the same. Loki squeezes his eyes shut, trying to breathe in. If they fight, he honestly doesn't know how this will play out. Thanos has four Stones, but Hela is...Hela.

"I see," Thanos's voice is steady, as if he's delivering awful news to a crowd he has to keep calm. "Then I'll make you a deal, Asgardian. If you want you and your lying snake of a sibling to survive this, kill your king."

His eyes pop back open, face going white.

No. No-he can't do this. He can't-No, no, no-(You killed my brother!)

"What? You're mad. I'm not going to kill my brother-" Hela starts, hand flexing around the blade.

"Of course you are." Thanos corrects, "Because Loki has told me all about you-" Loki thinks he might be sick at the memory "-and I know that you're a selfish creature. You get to choose. Your life, and your brother's for the price of his. It's not that hard to factor."

Loki can see Hela thinking, her breath coming out faster. Harder. Thor slumps in Thanos's grip as if accepting the inevitable. She's actually...she's actually considering killing their brother for his sake. She'll kill Thor so he'll survive, but Thanos doesn't keep his word. He lies, and lies and lies.

"'Ela," Loki's voice is a rasp. "Don't-"

"My child," Thanos interrupts, and Hela's gaze lifts up, "there is no point in trying to save those who do not deserve it. You are a killer. We all are. I understand loss. Let me help you. I can help. I want to help. Your brother is as good dead."

"Fine."

"'Ela-"

Thanos throws Thor unceremoniously in front of them. Loki panics as Hela drops him and he crumples to the ground. He can't get up. Hela moves towards Thor as if in a trace. She squats down next to him, murmuring something too quiet for him to hear. He's speaking, trying to plead with her, beg her, but his tongue isn't working.

Thanos doesn't mean it, can't she see that!? Is she so thick that she'll ignore the signs!?

Thor slumps beneath her touch. He doesn't breathe in.

Loki's world, spinning, dizzy, broken, stops.

Hela just...she...it…Hela just killed his brother. Hela...just killed his brother.

He snaps. (You killed my brother!)

He stabs her fifteen times. She slumps, dead, and her blood taints his face where she smears it. He pants, panicking; Thanos speaks words he doesn't hear. He tries not to cry and fails, his throat hot and burning when the world lurches beneath his feet again, stumbling backwards. Hela's hand touches his face, her words spoken backwards, pointlessly.

Loki's brow furrows with confusion. How...how-this is familiar. This...he's done this before. He's lived this before. He's...he's dragged backwards. Hela lurches up, alive, and he hands the dagger back to her. He's shoved backwards. Thor breathes. Thanos picks Thor up again, walking backwards.

Backwards.

Time-

000o000

Loki bites on his tongue to stop himself from screaming. Midnight yanks up on his arm again for good measure and hot tears of pain burn his eyes. He breathes out heavily, confused. He's lived this. Twice already. He's been here. He's...why is he here again? Midnight leans down and whispers the threat to him, Ebony is approaching, but Loki looks away from him, scanning the ridges of broken debris for his rescue party.

He sees the glint of what he thinks is Hela's hair, but nothing else before Ebony shoves into his mind.

He comes staggering out crying into Hela's arms.

She drags him forward until he can stand. They turn when Thanos breaks Thor's ribcage. Thanos drags him forward.

He's done this.

He's…

Thanos throws Thor forward. Hela kills him. Painlessly. She could have slit Thor's throat or carved his heart out. Instead, in some sort of insane mercy, she takes the life from him without breaking skin.

Loki staggers upright.

They're in a circle.

Time only works like this for one thing.

He stumbles to Hela, grabbing her shoulder. She twists around, wary of him, but Loki has no anger for her. Has no need for it. Thor will be fine. He'll be fine for as long as they remain like this. He grabs her shoulders tightly, trying to keep himself upright.

"You have the Time Stone." Relief washes over the grief clouding her features. She nods, twisting his dagger in her grip and offering it towards him. He doesn't take it. "We're in a Time Loop."

Another nod.

That's as far as they get. The Gauntlet smashes into his head and Loki is thrown to the ground. He gasps, trying to breathe, but his head is spinning. His vision fills with purple, and he knows no more.

000o000

Loki bites down on his tongue to stop himself from screaming.

Midnight is gripping his arm again. Her fingers are clawing into his skin, upsetting the deformed bone. Ebony is moving for him, but stops, his expression confused. He looks as disortined as Loki feels. Midnight releases him suddenly. Loki catches himself on his good hand, but hears her mutter "wait," under her breath.

"Sire?" Ebony turns to Thanos. "Sire, I do not-"

"Quiet!" Thanos's expression is furrowed. He's gotten to his feet, hand gripping his double-bladed sword. Loki coughs, spitting out blood.

"What are you doing?" Thanos turns to him, expression twisted with fury. "Stop it. Stop it, now."

Loki shakes his head, resisting the urge to laugh. He sees a glint of metal from the corner of his eye. Stark. "I'm doing nothing, my lord." He whispers. "You appear to be distressed. Is something amiss?"

Thanos's blade touches the tip of the back of his neck. Loki swallows thickly, but refuses to show how much this unsettles him. "I thought," Thanos says slowly, carefully, "you had learned better than to lie to me."

Loki's back burns beneath the reminder, the ghost of pain rippling through the scars. "I have," he promises. "I told you already, I have no more magic than you do. How could I be doing this?"

Ebony hisses. "Snake! You have found some means!"

"Stop this!" Midnight growls, stepping up beside her father. The rest of the Black Order is moving towards them, but it doesn't matter. They don't get it. To slow. To thick. To arrogant.

He shakes his head, laughing sullenly. "No." His arm trembles. "You're just far less observant than I."

Thanos swings his blade down on Loki's neck.

000o000

Loki bites on his tongue to silence his screaming. Midnight releases his arm immediately, releasing a scream of frustration. He tumbles forward, barely managing to catch himself from landing face-first on the rocks. Ebony stops in his tracks.

Thanos gets to his feet. "Don't just stand there!" he hisses, "Find them!"

The Black Order scrambles, looking for his siblings and the Midgardians. Loki shakes his head slightly, and Thanos's fingers grab at his hair, yanking his face upright. "Is something humorous, little king?"

Loki untangles his tongue from the roof of his mouth. "Do you understand yet?"

"Understand what?"

"No then." Loki's lips press together, but their quivering up. A Time Loop. It's a remarkably simple plan, honestly. But unless the Black Order or Thanos finds the wielder, they have an infinite amount of tries to get this right. To get the Stones from him.

Loki dives for them.

He's dead before his siblings and the Midgardians enter the scene.

000o000

Loki bites on his tongue to silence himself. Midnight shoves him, smashing her staff against his spine in her anger. Loki feels something snap and claws desperately at the earth, but a short sound of pain slips from his lips. Midnight's boot digs into his back, directly on top of the pulsing area.

"Call them off." She demands, frantic, angry and half-mad. "Call them off!"

Loki laughs, spitting out blood. "I can't." He rasps, "I don't know where they are."

"LIAR!"

"Always." He smiles.

He doesn't make it to the end of this one, either.

000o000

Attempt seven is much the same. And eight, but Ebony-at last-recognizes the work of the Time Stone, and roars for the "wizard!" Attempt nine ends with the Wizard being flushed from his hiding spot, but the loops starts again, and recenters all of them.

They fail attempt ten, and eleven. Thirteen. Fifteen.

Maybe this will be permanent, a despaired part of him whispers, you will never be free.

It can't end like this. It can't-

He's only survived three, and seen Hela and Thor kill each other every time. He doesn't make it to the end of this one, either.

000o000

Loki bites on his tongue to keep himself from screaming. His throat is burning, and he's rarely wanted water so much in his life. The familiar, aching pain of Midnight's staff dislocating his spine washes through him before he can get a coherent thought in. He crumples, curling into the rock and waits for someone to end him.

They usually kill him right off or cripple him and then kill him. It appears to be the latter this time. There's noise, something like twihp and the shadows surrounding him are yanked backwards by thin white ropes. Loki's in too much pain to follow their track. Breath is too much work.

The pain doesn't dull, despite how many times he's grown familiar with it. His body doesn't know this is not the first time it's happened, even if his mind does. He waits, listening to the sounds of brief, but sharp battle and the pulsing power of the Stones going off.

It's...weird.

Normally he's dead by this point. Normally it's over.

He waits in stillness, keeping still. Perhaps they think they've already killed him. If he could just...

"I have the Wizard!" Ebony screeches, and Midnight releases a delighted wave of laughter. Loki feels his stomach sink, his breath escaping with defeat. Curses. A Midgardian screams and Loki feels the subtle power of the Time Stone slide away from his body like oil being washed off in a stream of water.

They've broken the loop.

Everything that happens is permanent. This is permanent. No, no, no-

(Something is wrong.)

"Loki!" Thor's hands grab his shoulders, rolling him to his back. He would have jerked if he could have with surprise. He wasn't aware Thor was even close by. Loki's body slumps weightlessly, and Thor stares at him in horror. His fingers lift to Loki's neck, checking for a pulse. His fingers are gruff and bloodstained, but he doesn't yank them back in pain. Funny. Loki's skin has burned everything else without trying. Thor's expression clears with relief as he apparently feels the heartbeat.

"At long last," Thor mutters, shifting. Loki feels confusion wash through him before realizing that they haven't stopped the loops because of him. They needed one where he would survive before they made anything permanent. They don't exactly get a choice anymore. The Wizard's loop is broken. This is it.

Loki can't say anything, or move, but Thor gathers his boneless body into his arms. "Sister-" Thor shouts over his shoulder "-Do it now!"

"Stark!" Hela yells, "Get Strange!"

"We don't have the Time Stone!" Stark returns, a blast of his fire shooting over Thor's head. Midnight lets out a roar of pain. "The Loop broke! You want me to do that now?"

"Get Strange!" Thor shouts, pulling Loki closer as he runs for cover. "We're close, brother. I promise." His voice is heavy, "Thank the Norns for Spider-Man's webs. He's the only reason your still alive now."

...Spider-Man.

The hero's name is Spider-Man?

There's an explosion of purple light behind them and Thor winces, ducking over Loki's frame until the debris has settled. Loki doesn't know what he's running for, but he obviously appears to have a destination in mind. When Thor comes to a stop, breathing heavy, he twists around, slowly lowering Loki against the broken building. They're about thirty feet away from the open battlefield, and Loki can see most of it, if at an odd angle.

The Spider is keeping the Black Order contained as Stark fights Midnight for the Wizard's freedom. The Time Stone is gleaming within the Gauntlet. That...doesn't add up. When did Thanos have the time to add it? He must have lost time. He's prone to that when he can focus on little else but pain. It's both a blessing and a burden. (How many minutes was it this time?)

Stark manages to grab hold of the Wizard and shoots into the air, high above Midnight's grab range, yanking the man away from the scene. He shouts something at the Spider, who quickly jumps up and away from the scene on a white, thin rope shot from his wrist.

Thor's buzzing with anxiety, hands flexing in and out again and again. "Please work, please work, please work," he whispers under his breath, and Loki will admit that it doesn't fill him with bounteous amounts of confidence regarding their plan.

Hela, previously keeping Thanos engaged, falls back to the middle of the circle. She gathers some sort of black energy that pulls enough to make his heart palpitate before she slams her palm into the ground. There is no wave of light or a pattern to follow, it's completely invisible. Thanos and his children drop immediately anyway, the Gauntlet bursting apart into thousands of scattered bits of rock. Any remaining verdure within a ten foot radius withers into nothing but crumpled bits of dead leafs.

The Gauntlet throws him. In order for it to do that, it would have to be made of Dwarven metal. Dwarven metal doesn't age like normal iron or copper, it was made in a star. As it ages, it changes to rock. Hela sped up the life process on Mjolnir. It's how she destroyed it into a pile of smoking rocks, rather than thousands of metallic scraps. The Gauntlet...was made by Nidavellir's dwarfs?

Thanos, nor his children, get up. They're dead. Hela killed them all without laying a single finger on them.

Breathing heavily, Hela kicks Thanos's leg and sneers, "It's such a shame." Hela's teeth, when she smiles, are stained red. "I really thought you'd be more of a challenge. To be honest, I'm disappointed. I hope that you suffer in purgatory."

Thanos is...gone.

Loki is safe. They're all safe. He can breathe. They...won. (At what cost? There is always a cost.)

Time goes fuzzy again, leaping from this moment to another. When he manages to re-focus again, the Wizard is standing in front of him. Thor and Hela are beyond him, looking worse for wear. Hela's leaking blood from her nose and sporting a few cuts that must have been deep to remain this long. Thor's bruised, his hair tousled and sporting a few cuts, but they're both alive. Stark and the Spider are beyond them.

The deep hum of the Time Stone at work fuels through him, and Loki feels something re-align in his spine as the injury is reversed. He falls forward with a gasp, his limbs aching and prickly. His hands dig into the rock and he breathes. His blood feels like it's on fire, but it's nothing new. His body is trembling and he feels cold. He wants to laugh at the irony of that. How can he, a Jotun, be cold?

Hands touch his shoulders and he flinches back by habit. Hela's hands clutch at him, drawing him close into an embrace as she releases a shuddering breath. Thor joins her a moment later, squishing him beneath their combined embrace. He lets himself fall against them, inhaling shakily. Lets them hold him steady, because he can't keep himself together anymore. His heart patters inside his chest uncomfortably.

They don't say anything, broken and quiet together. I'm alive, Loki realizes, wide-eyed and shuddering. We all are.

"I hate you." Hela says softly, but doesn't let him go."You idiot. How did you think that running off would be the best plan of action? Tell me."

"I couldn't let you die," he murmurs. I never can.

"I'm going to cut off all your fingers, beginning with your thumb." She promises. "You are such a pain in the-"

"Start with my left hand?" Loki interrupts cheekily. His voice is hoarse and sounds half-dead.

"You don't get to choose." Thor snaps darkly.

"They're my hands!" But even through his indignation, he can feel how they tremble. How his own voice cracks and the way his fingers tighten against them like they'll vanish if they let go. But they don't.

Eventually, because it is a necessity, not a want, Hela pulls away and helps Thor to his feet before offering a hand out to him. Loki stares at it for a long moment, the caked blood and slight disfiguring of her thumb. They're all a mess now, Loki realizes. They always have been. Loki looks up at his sister for a moment before reaching his hand out and clasping Hela's. He doesn't burn the skin.

Hela pulls him up, out of the past with all it's pain and heartache, to the future. Their future, because this, Loki realizes, is his family and he's stuck with them. Not by blood, but by bond. Thor rests a hand on his shoulder, and Loki lets himself breathe in deeply.

"Alright?" Thor asks quietly.

Loki nods, "Of course...I will be."

* * *

Alternate Arrival of the Avengers:

Hela slams her fist against the wall. The sound vibrates around them, and the force of her brutality leaves an indent against the metal as it splits the skin of her knuckles. She doesn't care, instead choosing to swear savagely as she lets her fist linger in the wall for a moment. She hits it again, and blood begins to smear down her hand.

Again.

Again.

More and more and more until her fist is a bloody pulp, and looks as raw as she feels. It looks broken. Blood is smearing it red, leaving a disgusting stain on the wall. The sight of blood does not faze her, it hasn't since she was young. She's seen too much of it now. The bones are broken; she can feel how strangely disconnected they are. Flexing her fingers meets resistance, but not pain.

Never pain.

She coils her muscles, preparing for another assault, but is only met with resistance when Thor's deft fingers catch her bicep. His other hand gently encases her forearm, preventing her hand from getting any further on its destructive warpath.

"Hela." Thor's voice is quiet. "Stop."

"I'm going to kill him." She seethes. She shakes her head, jaw tight. "I'm going to kriffing kill him!"

She doesn't look at her brother, but feels as his expression darkens behind her. "Not if I beat you to it." His tone is barely above a mutter, but it doesn't need to be any louder to make his point. Thor slowly loosens the pressure, and when she proves herself capable of holding still, steps up next to her. He's still gripping her forearm, and comes around to inspect the damage. Part of her wants him to leave it. Maybe if she lets it fester long enough, it will hurt and serve as the much needed distraction.

"Kill him together," General Brunnhilde suggests dryly behind them. Hela can almost see the way that her lips quiver up, that furrowing her eyebrows do when she's angry, "It would probably be more painful that way, anyway. Might as well make him suffer for his stupidity, right?"

"I'm a skilled torturer." Hela snaps, "I know how to cause pain without assistance."

"Because that's always something to be proud of, isn't it, Commander?" Brunnhilde's voice is soft behind them, and Hela rips her right hand from her brother and spins, weapon drawn with her left. She has it leveled at the Valkyrie's face before anyone can as much as exhale.

Hela quells her temper, forcing herself to breathe despite how wound up she feels. Damage to the general would not be welcomed by anyone, and the last thing that Hela wants to do is deal with more stupid problems caused by her family. Instead, she squeezes out a breath. "Now? We're going to do this now?" Hela questions, voice taut. "After everything, you want to stomp around on this now?"

General Brunnhilde's unconcerned eyes look up at her. "No time like the present, isn't there?"

Norns, she wishes she could split her throat. The gush of blood that would spill onto her hands would not be a disgust, but rather a relief. To finally be rid of this woman after so many years of her taunting and Odin's favoritism.

"Enough." Thor sighs. He sounds as tired as she feels; a weary ache that settles deep into bone and no amount of sleep in the galaxy can fix it. "Don't do this now. Please."

That's what she was trying to say!

"You-" Hela starts to argue, but Thor gives her a dirty expression and she snaps her jaw shut. He lifts his hand expectantly, and Hela slaps the blade down into his awaiting palm with annoyance. Brunnhilde looks smug, and Hela is tempted to punch her again.

"Thank you." Thor murmurs, slipping the weapon inside his boot. It's cute how he thinks that will stop her.

Hela grits her teeth and forces herself to exhale sharply before she turns back to the healing room and the gathered group stuffed inside. Eir and another girl are working on trying to help the two aides get back up, eyeing their exchange with obvious discomfort. Hela bites on her inner cheek, but refuses to feel guilt for actions.

She is reacting. How did they expect her to take this? A bat of her eyelashes and a murmured "oh"? Thor went still. She's never been quiet. A bit of a warning would have been nice before they got here, but no. That would be too convenient, wouldn't it? They were only told by Eir to come to the healing wing at once because Heimdall said there had been an emergency, and no one had explained what happened until one of the aide's burst into frantic, helpless sobs and explained the whole story to them.

Even now the bright-lipped girl still weeps, her only comfort being Eir's steady hand on her back.

Savagely, Hela wants her to keep crying. To feel guilt. It's her fault that her youngest sibling is gone, scattered off into the cosmos like paper to the wind. If the aide and others had been able to keep Loki pinned into place, then they wouldn't be here, trying to process what happened and decide what to do next.

She knows she is deflecting. It has barely been fifteen minutes since she left, and if she had stayed here like she'd planned to, then Loki's sorry butt would still be planted on that ugly cot and he'd be perfectly safe and alive. They would know where he is. How he is.

The spur of emotion rouses through her, and Hela's jaw is beginning to hurt from how hard she's clenching her teeth together. She won't hit the wall again. Thor won't let her even if she tries. But Loki-

How could he have been so stupid!?

Why did he think that this would help? How did he think that this would help? It won't. He's being both naive and stupid. She's seen her fair share of asinine, dead heroes. Their story never ends well. She doesn't want her brother to join them, ranking among the sufferers and mutilated.

Eir sighs. Thor's heavy gaze lifts to her, and the healer shifts beneath it, uncomfortable. Finally, she says at length, "Loki has never been this impulsive. This must be something that he was thinking on for some time."

"He was awake for three hours before I ran into him." Thor counters. "If he'd had a plan before then, he would have left before we found him. He wasn't thinking, he just acted."

"Did he have to bash my head in for that?" Banner grumbles, wincing when he dabs at the open wound with a rag again. Thor was helping him, but her brother must have gotten up when Hela wouldn't stop hitting things.

The wound is bloody, but doesn't look like anything time won't heal. It's a split gash up the side of his forehead, leaving the skin stained and ugly. Banner's beast did not come out to play, leaving him injured and vulnerable. Hela saw Loki's work. She's standing in it. It's that of a half-drunk madman striking out at anything that moved. He was obviously disoriented. He seemed to have gotten lucky that the aide's stray spell hit Banner before Hulk could make a looming appearance.

If the beast had come out...would they be standing here, in the dead battlezone the sorcerer left in his wake, cursing his stupidity? Loki wasn't in a state to fight when they found him. He kept listing from side to side, pale and sickly. He looked a heartbeat away from collapsing entirely or vomiting a lung.

Eir has admitted she doesn't know how Loki was walking.

Hela doesn't either, and she doesn't know if she wants to know.

"I…" Eir runs a hand through her graying hair. Hela can see her agitation as clear as she can a wall. It's potent. "I didn't expect him to do something like this. I thought he would be in a bit of a titz, but not attack anyone."

"Well he did. And now he's gone." Thor's patience has drained. "We were as stupid as we were arrogant. We knew what he was talking about, but he didn't…"

She flexes her bloody fist.

"How could you have known what would happen, Thor?" Banner's voice is quiet. "Be reasonable. None of us saw this coming. We expected him to be in a comatose for a couple more weeks, not leap up like a corpse rising from the dead and run off."

It stings a little to realize that Loki doesn't think that she-that they could protect him if the need arose, but there's not much she can do about it now. He's gone. Any attempts to trace his ship prove unsuccessful, which means he must have turned off the tracker. He's gone, and he didn't even bother to say goodbye before popping out in a frantic, violent way. Heimdall doesn't know what direction to look in to see him. This is space. Space is not little.

Thor's shoulders slump in defeat. "But still, I-"

The door bursts open and Hela whirls, hand snapping out with a weapon as she slides into place in front of the group without thinking. She was standing behind Thor, but has to skirt to the left to take the head. They have no enemies on this ship, she has known that for a long time, but instinct is hard to kill. She has nearly met her end by inattentiveness far to many times in her youth.

The curia regis strides in, looking worn and haggard. A part of her snears at the sight of them, knowing full well what time of the morning this is and not caring. She can't say that she has grown any more fond of them over the last few weeks than she has the slow tear of padding inside her boot. Both are annoying, but nothing she can do anything about.

Thor takes a step up beside her, gently pushing down her arm. "My lords, ladies." Thor dips his head.

Hela refuses to show them such respect. She will bow to no one. Not anymore.

Lord Arkenson comes to a stop in front of them, resting his hands on his hips. Behind them trails Eir's main assistant, lips pinched together with annoyance. Eir sent her to gather the council and explain the situation as she herself went to collect Hela and Thor.

"What is this I hear about the Prince running of?" Lord Arkenson demands, never one to beat around the bush. Hela flinches, her jaw going tight again. He didn't run off. That makes it seem like he deserted them, and he didn't. He was being stupid.

Hela opens her mouth to respond, likely with something belittling, but Thor beats her. "Loki believed we were in danger," Thor says carefully, "he left to protect us before we could stop him. He was trying to save Asgard."

And how certain are they that the phantom who walks Loki's mind is active once more? The man who sliced open his back and gave him those wounds. She knows pain. Torture. They were creative in how they went about it, but she can't say she's impressed. What stood out to her the most was the hissing, ugly thing down the middle of his spine.

She knows what that was.

It wasn't the ugly stab, off to the left; pierced through enough organs to cause a quick, but painful end. It wasn't the traces from whipping, or the burned flesh that didn't heal right. Not the brand. Or the stitches scars.

It was a blood eagle. And because of their biology, he wouldn't have been killed by it, just suffered in a limbo between life and death. It's the punishment, legally, that Asgard gave to fratricide when she was still among the government. Things may have changed now, she doesn't know, didn't have time to care, but she has only seen Odin ever condemn four Asgardian's to the fate. She performed three of them by his command, and hated every second of it.

She didn't hold the title of executioner because it made her seem intimidating. She sailed a boat of her desire to please Odin on an ocean of blood, and when she got to shore he rejected her. Caged her. Treated her like an animal, when she'd have ripped out her own beating heart at the beginning of her youth if it meant she would please him.

And someone did that to Loki. It's not a fate she thinks she could condemn anyone to. Death is meant to be swift and painless. Not…

Not that.

Lord Arkenson scoffs. "As if he would care one iota about what happened to us."

Hela's eyes narrow. "He could have left you behind on Asgard. I would have had no qualms about running a weapon through your chest. In fact," she bares her teeth, "I would have enjoyed it. I still would."

Sir Borison swallows, looking visibly uncomfortable. A part of her is vindictively pleased by this. She's tired of dealing with these old men and women with their rigid, confined thinking. All they want to do is point the blame and bask in their own innocence. It's a wonder that Asgard didn't topple inwards long before she ever showed up to explode it.

Then again, the curia regis is missing a center figure head: the queen. Frigga is likely the only reason that Asgard survived as long as it did.

"And what was the threat that the Prince deemed big enough to desert?" Lord Arkenson demands sharply. Hela hears Thor make a slight noise in his throat, but he doesn't protest.

She blows out through her nose, remembering Loki's scrambled, half explanation. Thanos, he called him. A genocidal psychopath. Wipe out half the universe with the Infinity Stones. If someone had suggested that to her a few centuries ago she would have laughed in their face. No one can wield all six Infinity Stones at once. Not like that. The effort would kill them.

Odin was collecting them. His conquest on the Nine wasn't just because he loved blood. He was looking for the Stones, and found a handful. Asgard commissioned the creation of the Tesseract. Hela has held the Space Stone before.

Seeing Loki's open panic and desperation has forced her to re-evaluate her beliefs on those facts. Thanos is coming.

"It wasn't deserting." General Brunnhilde snaps. "He was trying to play hero. Stupid hero, but hero."

Lord Arkenson's eyebrow goes higher.

Hela bites on her inner lip before forcing the words out. "He's called Thanos."

She, with Thor, explains what they know, and watches as the council grows more and more distressed. It doesn't please her, for once. Their panic is a reflection of her own, and she'd really rather that someone was confident in her brother's survival.

She isn't herself.

She wipes the blood off of her fist, but the pain never registers. The distraction never comes. Loki is still out there. And he's still going to die without them being able to lift a finger in protest.

Thor's expression grows more distant, and a panicked pressure begins to fester in her stomach as she realizes what he's thinking.

000o000

A hand wraps around his forearm, and Thor does a full body flinch as a strangled wheeze escapes his lips. He stops reaching for the power, instead keeping still. He turns sharply towards the source and sees faintly glowing green in the dark. His heart sinks as he recognizes it on the spot.

"Brother…" Hela sighs, "I really did think that you'd know better."

Thor's teeth grit.

What would she have him do? Sit around until a solution presents itself? No. Thor isn't someone who waits. Espeically not now.

With the weight of Hela's presence here, the escape pod suddenly feels small and confined.

It has been four hours since Loki left. He didn't think anyone would think to look for him now. Then he could leave and drag Loki's sorry butt back here. Or, in the very least, keep him alive.

"Let me go." His voice is toneless.

"Not until you explain what you're doing here." Hela says softly, and tightens her grip the slightest bit. It hurts, but only faintly. Tight pressure, more than active hurt. "Thor," she sighs. She sounds suddenly old and weary. His stomach twists with guilt.

Thor twists his arm from her grip and backs up, slumping into the pilot's seat, heavily. Why didn't he turn on the lights? Maybe he could have avoided this whole thing. His hands twitch, as if preparing to start the sequence, but Hela slides to her feet smoothly and steps in front of him. Her arms are crossed. The only light is provided from the hallway beyond them, so he can't see her face, but it's not too hard guess what her expression is.

Thor slumps.

"You're being stupid." Hela says at length. "What exactly do you hope to accomplish by running off? You're their king. Asgard needs you. You're the only thing holding them together now. Are you really going to take that away from them?"

The guilt threatens to eat his throat inside out. It's settling in his stomach like a physical, heavy weight. He had assumed that Heimdall would step up. Or Brunnhilde. Maybe even Hela. He just…

He can't lose Loki again. Not when he is right here and capable of doing something about stopping the whole mess. How could he just stand idly by while knowing that his sibling was running off to his death? Even if they may not understand the full damage that has been done. He can't...

Thor snaps up, leaning forward on the seat. "And what about our brother? Am I supposed to just stand by and let him get himself killed?"

Isn't his duty to his family?

He can almost see the flash of irritation in Hela's eyes. "Did I say that?"

Thor doesn't answer, choosing instead to look at his feet. "And what would you propose that we do? You're…" Thor stops, a thought occuring to him for the first time. He breathes out in a sharp gust and looks up. "What are you doing here? Were...were you going to leave?"

Hela twitches. "No. I was waiting for you. I knew that you'd abandon us for him."

Thor's teeth set harder. His ears are beginning to hurt from the pressure. "I'm not abandoning-"

"You are Asgard's king. You don't get the option of-"

Thor snaps up to his feet. He doesn't remember thinking that he should stand, he's just suddenly up. "I never wanted the throne! Of course I don't want to leave them, but there are others who can do this much better than I can! I was never meant to be a king! Why does everyone keep trying to drown me in the position? I just want to keep my family together, but the fates won't let me do that, either! I just-"

"What do you think I am trying to do!?" Hela's voice is sharp. "You are the only thing I have left; If you leave, I have nothing!"

Thor stops.

His breath stutters in his chest and he exhales slowly. Hela...Hela has not been concerned about the throne. She has never been concerned about the throne. This has always been a matter of family. She has…

"Hela…" Thor whispers.

Hela turns away from him.

"Hela." Thor manages to get his voice a little louder. He reaches out and touches her arm, but she jerks away from him, slapping his forearm. Her entire body seems to seize.

"Stop it! If you're going to go, just go!" She shoves him, hard.

Thor's teeth slam together as he grabs at the chair frantically to keep himself upright. He balances himself and sees her eyes flash in the dark. He opens his mouth, not certain what he's going to say, but planning to say something and-

"You two." Brunnhilde. Both of them flinch, turning back to the exit. The woman is filling up the doorway, her frame silhouetted in the lighting. "Get your heads together. Now. We got trouble."

Thor doesn't look back at his sister. "What kind of trouble?"

"The kind of trouble that means we're all going to die kind of trouble! Is there any other!?" Brunnhilde shouts, drawing her weapon and leaving the doorway, running down the hall and shouting, "Come on!"

Thor grabs his sword and hobbles out of the escape pod, and hears Hela move to follow.

Niether of them say a word.

000o000

It's a ship.

It doesn't exactly scream doomsday, but it's not an idle threat either. Thor comes to a halt in the some-what throne room, stopping to gawk out the window. It's no where near as big as the Statesmen, but it's moving quickly in a straight course. Andit's coming right for them. They have two minutes, maybe three before they collide.

Norns curse it!

"Why aren't we turning!?" Thor demands, his voice raising a pitch despite his best efforts to keep it level.

"We can't. The Statesmen is too big." Heimdall explains quickly. "We're going to collide. There is no other alternative."

Thor swears under his breath, his mind frantically whirring. He runs through dozens of ideas, discarding just as many. They need a way to intercept the course, but how? The ship is circular in shape, with a giant hole in the middle. He can fly. If he could just get outside, then…maybe he could catch it?

That's stupid.

Maybe he could push the Statesmen out of the way.

Wait-he's a living lightning bolt. He can shoot the ship...And risk killing anyone inside, or making debris that will strike the Statesmen and make the whole problem worse. He grits his teeth, releasing an agitated noise.

"Turn up the shields." Thor demands of Heimdall. "Full power to the southside, use the engines to brace for impact." He turns to his sister. "Come with me."

She eyes him, "Where are we going?"

"The roof." Thor answers shortly, turning on his heel and sprinting from the room. Hela matches his pace easily, her silence is enough of a question. Thor sighs heavily. "We're of the nobility. We don't need to breathe. We might be able to stop the ship from hitting us dead on."

There isn't enough time to reach the hatch. They're going to have to make their own exit. Thor stops in the hall, looking up and flexes his fingers, building up the power. It fizzles in his core before making his blood hot.

Hela snorts. "What do you want us to do? Throw things at it? Because that will be incredibly effective."

"I don't know! But we have to do something!" Thor snaps, lifting his hands up and shooting the power from his fingers. It snaps and crackles from his skin, bursting against the metal. It takes a moment before the metal begins to bend and burn beneath the electricity. He hears the snap as the vacuum of space slips into the space between them.

Thor exhales, emptying his lungs completely and takes a moment to let himself adjust as the pressure snaps his lungs closed. His heart rate slows to a stiff beat every few minutes, blood pooling in his limbs. He'll be swollen and stiff later, but the cost is hardly important right now. He sees Hela blow out her last breath before Thor looks up and jumps, shoving. He pushes the remaining metal off and lands on the top of the Statesmen in a stumble.

The air roaring around him leaves him momentarily deaf. He'd forgotten how loud space is. Not in the traditional sense, like people screaming or white noise, but the air gushing back and forth. Hela lands beside him, and Thor forces himself to focus as the Statesmen's auto detectors close the hole behind them to prevent the ship from being ripped apart.

Ship.

Approaching in the distance.

Thor takes a few steps forward, shifting his weight to his feet heavily to stop himself from being flung off of the boat completely. The circular ship is still coming towards them. If the Statesmen was only a few dozen feet lower, they could narrowly avoid each other.

If...if they could somehow catch it.

What are they supposed to do? Thor was sort of hoping that by coming up here, he'd be struck by an idea on how to save everyone, but he's just as clueless as he was in the throne room. Trouble indeed.

Thor turns to his sister, but she's already watching him expectantly.

She's dry, too.

Great.

"We need to try and catch it." Thor shouts, trying to be heard over the solar winds.

Hela's expression flickers with obvious disbelief. She gestures towards the approaching ship with frantic hands. "Are you mad?"

Thor gives a mirthless smile. "Possibly. I'll go high, you take low."

"Thor, I swear, if this kills me-" Hela starts, but Thor has already shoved off of the Statesmen's roof and is heading for the ship. He clings onto the weightlessness he found leaping off of palace's balcony so many months ago, trying to remember the trust he'd had in Mjolnir. He's not going to fall unless he chooses to.

He has to believe that.

He keeps moving for the ship.

Thor braces his muscles, squeezes his eyes shut, and lifts his hands up. He's still not ready for when the weight of the ship slams into him. Thor's been hit by a lot more than he cares to admit in his lifetime, but this feels like he's just had an entire building topple onto him. Or been struck face-first by a moon.

A loud yell of agony and surprise slips through his lips. Thor grabs at anything and everything, and pushes back.

This really doesn't seem to be working.

Brilliant.

The ship lurches suddenly, almost enough to cause him to lose his grip, but he tightens anyway. That must be Hela. Thor tightens his handhold and shoves and shoves and shoves until he feels the speed begin to slow. There's no sound in space. Not really. But Thor imagines that if they could have had access to it, it would have been close to deafening.

The ship slows until it finally stops, slamming on top of the Statesmen heavily with a cloud of dust.

The weight makes their vessel drop enough that it's noticeable. Thor's arms are burning and his throat hurts. He feels the insane desire to laugh bubble in his throat.

It worked. It actually worked. The Statesmen is in one piece and no one died.

The circle begins to topple to the side and Thor forces himself to release, backing up. His gaze zeros in on his sister before he pushes himself forward and grabs her in a tackle hold, wrapping his arms around her bony frame tightly. They both topple, but Hela is squished beneath his protective embrace before the ship could crus her.

Dust sweeps over them, any broken bits of metal that snapped off of the other ship popping out and away from them.

When everything has settled, Thor releases his protective embrace and sits back, blinking and coughing. Hela shoves up onto her elbows, tipping her head back. There's blood on her clothing, and it takes him an alarmingly long amount of time to realize that it's his, not hers. Looking down at his palms reveals how utterly shredded the skin is. Muscle is sticking out in some places, but he really can't…

He can't feel much of anything but an overwhelming sense of relief.

Hela sits up fully, shaking dark hair from her face. She's eying the ship with distrust. Thor follows her thought process, lips thinning.

They need to see if there are any survivors, or at least determine who almost hit them. He swallows, squeezing his eye shut for a moment before shoving up to his feet. He offers his hand out to her, and pulls her up when she takes it.

He notes, distantly, that her hands are in a state like his own.

His shoulders are burning. He thinks he dislocated one; something popped or pulled back there. That's a concern for later, though.

Hela draws a sword, taking it into both hands. Her eyes narrow before, with a few familiar military gestures, they split up. She goes right and he takes left. He grabs the hilt of his sword as he walks and quickly snaps it away when the pain registers sharply. Ow. Okay, yeah, that's not going to work right now.

Thor pinches his lips together, keeping his eye rapidly moving back and forth across the ship, looking for any signs of life. Nothing pops out. He keeps walking. And walking. It takes the better part of five minutes before he reaches what he assumes is the frontal part of the ship. A large window reveals the bridge. Thor moves towards it carefully, standing a good distance away from the cracked glass and tenses when he sees movement inside.

That's a person. No-two. Three?

His body immediately stiffens, llightning pulsing in responce to his unease.

He can't use his sword. His palms aren't in the condition for that. Instead, he'll have to use something else.

Thor flexes his fingers, trying to calm nerves. He moves forward and feels lightning snap across his palms to prepare for the threat. The light draws the attention of the figures inside and Thor curses himself for losing the element of surprise before a whir of orange sparks appears in front of him suddenly and Thor topples inside with a yell, falls, and-

-slams into hard metal. A grunt of pain slips through his lips in surprise, but he manages to flex his neck to stop his head from slapping against the metal. Weapons whir and bright light appears over his face, but Thor stops because he knows the sound of that weapon.

He jerks, his eye frantically moving as he rolls towards his back. The weapon follows him and Thor sees three figures standing over him. Thor feels his jaw fall open. What are the odds…?

Thet stare at each other in flabbergasted silence for a long few seconds

"Thor?" Tony croaks. He has a cut down the side of his face, bleeding sluggishly. He looks awful, but the familiarity makes Thor want to weep.

"Stark." Thor says flatly.

What are the odds?

"You're missing an eye." Tony pulls his hands back, the repulsors powering down. The Wizard's-Strange or something, wasn't it?-shields drop and he releases an audible breath of relief. The other figure, a pale young man with brown hair and dressed in red armor, looks only confused, but nonetheless relaxes when Tony does.

Thor props himself up on his elbows, simply gawking for a moment. He can't believe this. After a year without contact and it isn't Thor landing on Earth that re-units them. Tony nearly crashed his ship into the Statesmen and killed all of them.

"Is that blood?" the Wizard asks.

"What are you doing here?" Thor counters. He looks towards the Wizard. "How did you get this ship? This isn't Midgard's technology. It's too advanced."

It's better tech than the Statesmen.

"I'm going to pretend that I'm not offended by that." Tony says sharply, and Thor thinks that he might cry. The banter. The voice. He hadn't realized how close he'd gotten with the Avengers until he didn't have any access to them at all.

They all look tired. A deep exhaustion that speaks of long hours of battle with no sleep.

Thor awkwardly makes his way up to his feet. There are so many things he wants to say, but he doesn't even know what to begin with. He looks towards the young man.

"Who are you?"

"Um." The adolescent glances at Tony for help before lifting out a hand. "I'm Peter. Peter Parker. Or Spider-Man."

Thor doesn't clasp his hand, all to aware that he's bleeding. Peter's expression furrows and Tony gives him a look before explaining tiredly, "Yeah, bud, they don't do that here."

Peter lowers his hand.

"Man of spiders?" Thor repeats, fumbling around the last word. Asgard didn't have creatures like spiders, and the Allspeak offers no translation into something more familar to him. He remembers that his first encounter with the creatures involved Darcy screeching at the top of her lungs that they were all going to die and him arriving in the room with Mjonlir only to see her on top of the counter and pointing helplessly while squeaking.

He didn't understand they're mostly harmless at the time.

Jane killed it.

He shakes off the memory, discarding it as unimportant as quickly as he can.

"Just Peter." Peter says, rubbing at the back of his neck is discomfort. One hand is on his abdomen. He looks shaky and sweat, like he's running a high-grade fever.

"Thor," Tony's voice is heavy. "Thor, there's something out there. A threat that we can't fight. We weren't ready. He's coming. He-"

"Thanos." Thor blurts before he can stop himself.

The Wizard's stance grows wary. "How do you know that name?"

Thor feels himself stiffen. He looks between the three and then lowers his gaze to the Wizard's chest. The Time Stone. He'd felt its power when he stepped inside the Sanctum. He hadn't commented on it because it wasn't relevant, but he knew it was there. There are-were, Asgard's gone, by the Allfathers he will never get used to referring to it in the past tense-stories of Bor giving the Time Stone to Midgard for safekeeping.

He doesn't know how much truth there is to them.

An Infinity Stone.

Like the Tesseract. Loki.

Thor looks between them, his gut clenching.

"Do you know him, Thor?" the Wizard questions.

"Of him." Thor corrects, biting on his inner cheek. "He…" how can he begin to explain what Thanos has done? He sent Loki, he is the reason that Loki left. The reason for so much slaughter and pain.

"Mr. Stark?" Peter questions, had on his abdomen.

"We need to talk about the Infinty Stones." Tony says, reaching out a hand to grip his shoulders. "I know that you know more than all of us. And Asgard had Space."

Thor bites on his lower lip. "I can take you inside. We...have a lot to catch up on."

They don't even know Asgard is gone.

"Mr. Stark...?"

"Like your eye?" Tony questions pointedly. Thor's hand raises to the patch, almost automatically, and he nods wordlessly. His hands burn beneath the pressure.

"Let me go get my sister, then we can go." Thor says. "We...there's a lot you need to know."

The Wizard and Tony falter. "Your what? How long have you had a sister?" Tony demands, eyes blown wide. Thor shakes his head, opening his mouth to say some version of it doesn't matter, but Peter grabs Tony's shoulder and finally gets his attention.

"Mr. Stark," the young man whispers, and all their eyes turn towards him. "Mr. Stark, I don't…" he whispers, blanches, and then questions, "do you guys smell hydrogen peroxide?", and before any of them can answer, topples forward to his knees and throws up.

000o000

"Really, Mr. Stark, I swear I'm okay."

"You threw up."

"Yeah, but. I mean, so?"

"You better hope that you have a better defense than that, because what you have isn't going to cut it, Pete." Tony says sharply, shoving the youngest down again when he attempts to get up. An annoyed expression washes over his expression at the action, but, unlike before, he settles onto his back and lets Tony feel his forehead for the umpteenth time. It's a pointless action. Eir already checked him, and found nothing serious to be wrong.

Vertigo. Low blood sugar. Decompression issues. Shock.

Thor clenches his hands, forcing out a heavy breath. It's sharp and aches, as it always is for the following few hours after space. Often, he has to remind himself to breathe in that period of time, too, because his body has adjusted to living without oxygen and doesn't quite see the point of taking it in again.

He always performs better when he breathes.

Bruce rests a hand on Peter's forehead, his lips downturned, but Peter has obviously not caught any sort of deadly illness just yet.

Tony watches the doctor like he's a ghost, and Thor remembers feeling much the same way when he saw him on Sakaar. They'd assumed Bruce was in hiding or dead, and to see him unharmed and breathing...it had been hard. He couldn't stop touching Bruce, afraid that when he broke contact, Bruce would slip through his fingers like running water.

Hela fidgets beside him, obviously uncomfortable. Dr. Strange, as he introduced himself to the Asgardians, had teleported them inside the Statesmen and Thor had left to retrieve his sister and explain what he knew about the situation. At least he can say with a surety that the ship was carrying friendlies.

Thor glances at her, attempting to catch her eyes, but failing. He nudges her with his elbow. "What?"

Hela glances at him, and shakes her head.

Not now, then.

Tony releases an agitated breath, slumping down next to Peter. Dr. Strange is seated beside them, cross legged. It looks like a meditative pose, but he hasn't seen the doctor make any effort to slip into that mindset.

"We need to compare notes." Tony says at long last, looking at him. He knew the question was coming, but that doesn't make him any more willing to talk about it. "What do you know about Thanos? You go and then I'll explain what's going on on our end."

Thor sours. He doesn't want to talk about this. He doesn't want to discuss what Loki did, but there's no avoiding it. Not anymore. Loki has been gone for hours. He could be dead by now. He probably is dead. The thought isn't a cheerful one.

"We need to find and kill Thanos before it's too late." Thor mutters. Before the damage that the Titan has inflicted is permanent. "We...probably don't know much more than you do. The only person I know who had one-on-one experience is…"

He looks away towards the rest of the group. It's just him, his sister, the Avengers, Heimdall, Brunnhilde and a few medical aides beyond Air herself. Not as big of a crowd as it was this morning.

"Is?" Tony prompts, looking hopeful. Thor hates to dash it, but he doesn't really have a choice.

"On a suicide mission."

Dr. Strange's face falls openly. "What? Why? When?"

"A few hours ago." Thor sighs, rubbing at his forehead. "We need to find him, but I don't..."

"Yeah." Hela's voice is flat. "I was actually starting to like the little fífl."

"His name is Loki. You know that now." She makes a face at him, but Thor refuses to rise to the bait.

The realization seems to strike Tony at last because he does something close to a full body twitch and twists around, "Loki is alive? Since when?"

"Birth." Hela answers flatly.

Thor whacks her arm. "Not the time." He hisses. Her eyes narrow, but she snaps her teeth together and looks away from them all pointedly. Peter makes a slight noise in the back of his throat, something between a laugh and a panicked moan. Tony and Bruce turn to him immediately, but Peter just props himself up on one elbow.

"Did Thanos attack Asgard? Is that why you're all here?"

Thor and Hela share an uncomfortable look. He hears Eir snort loudly and sees Bruce shift, uncomfortable. Thor swallows and says at length, "...No. It was something else. We haven't met Thanos. Not yet."

"So how do you know who he is?" Dr. Strange questions.

Thor worries his lip between his teeth. He doesn't know how much he can say without invading Loki's privacy, but on the same hand, he really isn't sure if it matters at this point. The fate of the universe hangs in the balance. He...really can't place his brother's feelings above that. He doesn't know if he ever has.

"Loki…" Thor starts. Stops.

He can't keep going.

Hela takes a step forward. "Thanos nearly destroyed him. Is still tormenting him. Loki left to take the Tesseract to the Titan-" Tony and Dr. Strange make indignant noises "-to bargain for our lives. He somehow believes that it's going to solve all our problems. It won't. But you try and explain that to the self destructing idiot."

"Loki knew him? Personally?" Tony clarifies.

Brunnhilde snorts, pulling herself away from the wall she's leaning against. "How well can you know your torturers? Loki and Thanos weren't friends. He was little more than a glorified slave listening to the spouted information his master gave him."

Tony flinches.

Dr. Strange eyes him before asking softly, "And did Loki say what Thanos's endgame was. Why he was collecting the Stones? That's still what's unclear to me."

Thor feels sick. He closes his eye. "He...said that Thanos was going to wipe out half of all life. His endgame is mass slaughter, and beyond us, there is nothing in his way."

000o000

They compare notes.

Dr. Strange was nearly assassinated in the middle of the night by some of Thanos's lackeys, but escaped with the assistance of a man called Wong. The fight caught the attention of Peter, who was on a "patrol" as Spider-Man at the time, who then called Tony which resulted in all of them eventually being dragged up to space together. They managed to over power their captor and were attempting to figure out a way home when Thor and Hela stopped their ships from colliding.

Previously, the three of them had been stuck on the boat for a little over twelve hours.

Now they're here.

And they have no plan for the future.

What are they supposed to do? How do they stop someone like Thanos? They don't even know how many Stones-if any-that the Titan has. What if he has all others and the only one in the way is Time? Or Space? Loki didn't physically have the Stone on him. That means it must have been in his cache, but in order to take that, Thanos would have to kill Loki first.

If...when they run into Thanos, Thor guesses that will be an indicator of his little brother's wellbeing. If the Titan has Space then Thor will have to assume the worst.

Tony voices the obvious question. "What do we do now?"

Thor sighs. No one speaks up immediantly.

Knowing does not instantly make a solution.

"We know where Mind is." Heimdall says at length, and Thor looks up at him. There's something grim in the gatekeeper's expression. "We know the location of Time. The best thing we can do is keep the two of them safe. Out here, you are unguarded. Loki, for all his misplaced wisdom, was right to take the Tesseract somewhere that wouldn't end in mass slaughter. You need to return to Earth. At least there, the ground is solid."

Tony scoffs. "On what? The seat of our pants? In case it escaped your notice, amber-eyes, we're not exactly dealing with a surplus of spaceships here."

"The ship you arrived in." Heimdall says. "It's in working condition, and, more importantly, it can use jump points."

Thor perks. "It can? That would save considerable time. We could be on Midgard in less than six hours...Maybe even less if we didn't take an adjustment period."

"Because that always ends well." Eir snaps, drawing out of her frowned statue-like state in the corner. "The long standing effects of that are disastrous. It's not worth the cost." Her gaze shifts pointedly towards the group of Midgardians, "Especially for them."

"Jump points?" Bruce looks confused.

Thor sighs and rubs at his forehead. "I didn't explain much about space travel, did I?"

"Yeah, no. You don't talk too much about it, Point Break. I thought that the Bifrost was the only way to get from point to point quickly." Tony sighs heavily, his expression growing flustered. "I'm guessing that there's something else."

Hela rolls her eye, glancing at him. "They really are like children, aren't they?"

"Hey." Tony jerks up. "For the record, Hades, not all of us have been raised on magic-land of all-knowing-magic. As far as we were concerned a decade ago, none of you guys were even real. So this is really your fault, not mine. You vikings are terrible at dropping information, or even sharing it. So if you want to blame someone for stupidity, looking at the mirror and guess who's there." Tony waves mockingly, "It's you. Hello."

"Mr. Stark, maybe-" Peter starts, trying to placate.

Hela smiles with teeth. "It's 'Hela'."

Thor gives her an exasperated look. Heimdall takes a step forward, drawing the attention again. "The Midgardians speak truth; they won't know how to activate or use the jump points. One of us has to go with them...and perhaps that is for the best. We can help in this fight."

Thor worries his lip between his teeth, looking around the room. No one leaps forward and waves their hand frantically shouting "me, me, me!" at the top of their lungs. But that doesn't mean that Thor doesn't want to. Getting to Earth is one step closer to Thanos, and, more importantly, Loki. Thanos is the only person who knows where Loki is right now. If he goes, and manages to talk to Thanos, then maybe…

Thor blows out a heavy breath. "I can go."

"No." Hela shoots down quickly.

Thor turns to her, frustrated. "Stop."

"Brother-"

"Let me make my own decisions! I'm going. I know the Avengers, and I know Earth. Anyone else will be confused, but I've been there the most recently. And they trust me. I'm the only one that makes sense."

"No."

"Hela-" Thor starts, his voice losing it's patience.

"Both of you come with us." Bruce interrupts before the argument can really pick up speed, and Thor feels his expression drop as he looks away from Hela's angry face to stare at the doctor. He feels his jaw working, trying to say something. Bruce releases a soft sigh, "Listen, neither one of you is going to go without the other, that much is obvious, but Thor is right. We don't need anyone to be a liability and Thor already knows what's going on and he's trusted by Earth. They'll listen. Hela can come as backup. We need as many fighters as we can get."

"We?" Tony asks, tone slightly softer.

Bruce nods, looking away. "I'm coming back with you. Earth is my home. I want the chance to protect it."

Peter perks visibly.

Thor's heart sinks. If he doesn't go with, he loses someone else today.

Thor looks towards Heimdall, uncertain. The gatekeeper releases a heavy breath. It sounds like he's accepting someone's inevitable death, and it doesn't exactly bode well with his confidence.

"We don't have many choices. Go. We'll still be here when you return." Heimdall says firmly. Brunnhilde nods, squeezing his shoulder with reassurance. Oddly enough, it's her touch that settles him. Heimdall's words register and Thor sincerely hopes that they'll come to pass.

But something dark and coiled inside of him doesn't tell him to believe that.

He looks to his sister. "Your call."

Hela rubs a tired hand through her ratty hair. "I think we both know the answer already."

000o000

_Why don't you let me take over, I'm clearly the better pilot._

Thor's hands still on the controls as the memory comes to mind. Loki's jabs, if half hearted, as Jane lay dying at their feet. He remembers snorting and saying something along the lines of well who can actually fly? and that was pretty much that. Thor didn't say the obvious, even though he could have. He's pretty sure Loki would have strangled him outright if he's just flat out said it, though. Loki is a terrible pilot. He crashes anything he flies more often than not and can't seem to grasp the concept of how sensitive everything is.

He's a scientist. Loki can fly something to save a life, everyone in the army can, but as far as performing aerial maneuvers as complicated as something in one of Midgard's movies? Yeah. No.

He bites on his inner cheek, feeling suddenly sick.

"Hey," Tony's voice snaps him back and Thor jerks, looking towards the man. "You okay?"

Thor hastily washes any discomfort off his features and moves through the flight sequences, trying to figure out where the nearest point is. It looks like they have a few minutes before he can enact the engines to pull them through the rosien-bridge.

"I'm fine." Thor promises, drawing up a tight smile. "I promise."

Tony raises an eyebrow, leaning on the equipment where it won't impede any of Thor's progress. "Forgive me for being doubtful. But. Thor, really, are you sure that you're up for this? You kind of look like death warmed over."

"I haven't slept in three days." Thor explains stiffly. "And far less in the previous two weeks. I'm just...we don't exactly have another option anyway. Asgard can take care of herself, and you need this. You look worse than I do."

Tony's lip twitches. He rubs a hand over his face, "Yeah. Right."

Thor flips a switch, pushing on something. "Dr. Strange is still on the bridge with the others, right?"

Tony nods absently. "Forgive me for not seeing the point of putting this separated. Who puts the main controls in an entirely different room than steering?"

"It's supposed to go together," Thor explains, squinting at the label on something. It's in a dialect he's not exactly familiar with, but he's seen enough ships to have a basic understanding of how it will work. "But we damaged something when we caught the ship. We'll have to do it manually."

"That's going to work?" the man questions skeptically.

Thor shrugs.

"That instills me with confidence."

Silence laps between them. Thor pulls down on a lever and the ship jerks sharply. He presses his lips together. That was probably not the cooling agent, then. He doesn't even know what that would do. How is rocking the ship even remotely useful?

Tony looks up as if expecting the ceiling to come tumbling down on top of them. Thor bites on his cheek, but feels his face heat anyway.

"So Hades?" Tony questions after a long few minutes. "How long has that been a thing?"

Thor blows out a breath. "I've only known about her for less than half a year. My father told me in his dying words and she showed up not two minutes later and tried to kill me."

Tony is quiet for a long few seconds, processing, before saying blankly: "...I don't mean to be rude, but yeah. That sounds like your family."

Thor's teeth snap together. He looks up. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"I just…" Tony lifts up his hands. "You guys...have issues to work out. Your brother attempted to conquer a planet just to spite you, remember? And your dad is kind of…" he waves his hands, at a loss for words.

Thor has no shortage of them.

"A psychopath? Sadist? Megalomaniac? Blood thirsty? Pick and choose at your leisure." Thor snaps darkly. The multi-billionaire's eyebrows raise and Thor sighs heavily, sitting back on his heels. He runs a hand through his hair.

Tony squats down next to him after a few moments, hands clasped together. "No defenses?"

"What's the point? I'm not blind to the truth." Thor mutters, "I was a blind fool. Pretending that I didn't understand what my father was doing helped make it endurable. But I can't feign ignorance any longer."

Tony sighs softly. "I take it that something came up? Last couple months haven't just been space-travel funtimes?"

Thor squeezes his eye shut. "Not exactly."

"You're...you want to talk-?"

"No."

"Should you?" Tony pushes pointedly. Thor goes quiet, clenching his fists. He...doesn't even know what he'd say. This type of thing is something he'd discuss with Loki or his mother, not Tony. Thor has never been very good at sharing personal information, despite how he wears his heart on his sleeve. The only people who were ever very good at yanking it out of him were his mother or brother.

And neither of them are here to do that.

How ca he explain that his father nearlt destroyed his brother and sister...and him with his parenting? It would take longer than he cares for. And doesn't seem like the type of thing Tony wants to talk about either.

"I don't…" Thor trails. He shakes his head, clearing his throat. "We should go meet them upstairs, we're nearing the jump point and I don't trust Hela with technology that's had a milliena to advance beyond her."

"Thor," Tony grabs his shoulder when he gets up. "Wait. Just...don't try and shoulder through this alone like you do everything else. I want to help."

But that means nothing.

(It means everything.)

Thor nods wordlessly, and he and Tony make their way back upstairs. Peter, Bruce and Hela are in the middle of a conversation that he barely processes words for, and Dr. Strange is...floating. He's in a meditative position, but his face is blurring back and forth as if his soul is being struck by realities.

Thor's expression twists. He looks at Tony. "What is he doing?"

"You honestly think I know more about magic-crap than you do?" Tony counters dryly.

Thor tilts his head, seeing sense in the point, even if it doesn't help the situation. "That's-"

Hela turns to him sharply, smacking on his arm to garner his attention. He grunts and rubs at the area on instinct before turning to face her. "Toenail boat," she says flatly, "explain that."

Thor immediately groans and then shakes his head. "No. That's Loki's story to tell, not mine."

His stomach twists at the reminder of the youngest. Loki is not dead, he reminds himself sharply. Loki will be fine. He's not dead.

"So it was Loki?" Peter clarifies, but still looks hopelessly confused.

What are they talking about? Thor opens his mouth to ask that very question, but Tony touches Dr. Strange's knee and the wizard comes tumbling out of his meditative stance with a cry. All of them turn towards the doctor, and Thor takes a step forward to help steady him when Tony pulls him up.

The man's frantic eyes search rapidly between them all, a panicked sort of hiss escaping him.

"Hey, you're back. You're good. Take some deep breaths." Tony instructs, gripping the man's forearm to try and ground him.

"What was that?" Bruce questions breathlessly, coming to a stop behind Tony. Hela steps up next to him, looking down at the man with a furrowed expression.

Dr. Strange swallows, looking between them all again. His gaze lingers on Hela. "I went into the future to view alternative realities to see all the different outcomes of our path." He explains, voice clipped.

"How-how many did you see?" Peter asks.

"Fourteen million four hundred and five." Dr. Strange says softly. His gaze has shifted into something despairing, and settles on Tony's face as if trying to seek answers there.

The man shifts, expression earnest. He rests a hand on Dr. Strange's arm. "How many did we win?"

Dr. Strange's gaze lifts from the Midgardian to his sister, his eyes softening. If he wasn't mistaken,Thor would say that his gaze is filled with sympathy. The implications of that make Thor's entire spine stiffen. It looks like it takes the doctor considerable effort to speak, but when he does, his voice is barely above a whisper.

"None."

* * *

Alternate Ending: 

Thor lets out a roar and dives forward, axe flying towards the Titan's front. If he'd been thinking clearly, Thor might have done something different, but rage is blinding. More so than any loss of his eyes had been. This is pure, energetic hate.

Thanos saw it coming. He turns just in time-as if the fates warned him themselves-and lifts up the Infinity Gauntlet the real one, not the one Father professed to have. The blade of the axe merely scratches the metal, landing at the Titan's well-worn boots.

Thor hadn't been prepared for that. He'd expected to impale the Asgardian in the chest, dig his blade into the creature until he told him what had become of Loki. Until he'd suffered for everything that he'd done. Until-until-

Those plans no longer matter.

He lands on his feet in front of the Titan, still buzzing with electricity. His hand reaches for the weapon; he recalculates. He can still create enough force to impale the Titan, even without the added assistance of throwing it. His fingers brushes the tip of the handle before Thanos's large hand wraps around it and tears it from the earth. The weapon isn't Mjolnir. There is no spell to bind it to the worthy, there is only the craft that Hela poured into it. And it isn't enough.

"Asgardian." Thanos's deep voice rumbles. "King, if my sources are true."

Thor's incense grows. Lightning dances along the tips of his hands. His blood is burning, and Thor needs to release before he charrs his insides. Loki, his mind pleads, think of Loki. Don't be rash. You need answers.

He needs Thanos's head on a pike.

"Where is Loki?" Thor demands, his voice like a sharp crackle of lightning. "Where is my brother?"

Thanos has the temerity to smile, and Thor's to-thin patience snaps. Withers. Dies. He tears lightning down from the heavens and Thanos has only time to raise the Gauntlet before it blasts into him at full force. Thor slams his fist as hard as he can into Thanos's gut and grabs for the axe when the Titan stumbles back. He raises the weapon, prepares for a near-kill shot and-

Stops.

His limbs have frozen, still and unmoving. Paralysis, he can't move. Panic creeps into his stomach, threatening to eat him through and through. Thor is reminded of when he was younger and Loki was still manifesting. How even barely able to walk, Loki's power was great. They would play, as best they were able. Once Loki touched him mindlessly, and Thor had been frozen for nearly ten minutes as Loki weeped for their mother and nursemaid.

They had been able to do nothing.

As Thor is now unable.

It is the work of the Tesseract. Thanos reaches forward and grabs him by the throat, lifting him up. Thor feels almost plucked, like one would do to a flower in the middle of a field. His touch reignites Thor's limbs and he struggles, grabbing at the Titan's forearm in a desperate attempt to ease the pressure on his neck. The electricity on his limbs seems to be nothing more than a vague annoyance to the Titan.

"You'll…" Thor barely manages to make the word out. His chest is compressing. "Die...for…"

Thanos throws him to the forest floor. Thor lands with a thud and Thanos's boot smashes against his chest. It's heavy. Thor's flailing arms lift to raise it, but it keeps getting heavier. He's being crushed. He's not going to make it. He'll be laying here, dead, among the rest of the Avengers. Save Maximoff, who Thor can see weeping to the side.

Steve is on the forest floor and he isn't getting up. Everyone is breathless. Dead.

He's going to join them.

Norns, I'm sorry Loki. Mother. Hela. I'd meant to-

After his ribcage has snapped from top to bottom and a hollow scream has been torn from him, a sword slips into Thanos's chest. The edge is slick with his blood and Thanos makes a gasping noise before the weapon withdraws. The foot releases so he can stagger off of Thor to face his opponent. Thor's too exhausted to look up, he can't breathe. His lungs aren't working. He's going to die starving for air.

There's a distinct shing sound, one that's almost impossible to mistake. He hates how his hope rises, but it does all the same. A foot steps over him, a shadow falling onto his face. The figure is in front of him now, with the intent to guard, protect-avenge, Thor doesn't know.

Hela's cape is torn at the edge and wet with the Outriders blood, but he recognizes it almost instantly. Her helmet is dull and faded, but Thor thinks he might weep at the familiar sight. A sword is in either hand.

Thor is gasping, fingers clawing into the dirt.

"Oh, darling," Hela's voice is silk, "you're just a mess of poor decisions."

"Am I?" Thanos is steady. The Time Stone is gleaming over the wound, repairing what damage has been done. The only trace it existed is the blood on one of Hela's weapons. His stomach sinks. Hela may be powerful, but she is nothing against six Infinity Stones. Thanos could not be stopped by any of them.

Hela's head tips, and there's something predatory in her stance. "Every broken bone on him is a severed body part on you. Remember that."

"Your threats mean nothing to me. I don't even know who you are."

"Where is my brother?" Hela demands sharply, words dark and hate-filled. She doesn't seem to care any longer about trading threats back and forth.

Thanos laughs, like causing pain is something funny. "I've met a great deal of people, my child; you must understand that I don't remember every face."

"Loki." Hela's voice holds no humor. "I'll give you one chance to answer. Where is my brother?"

Thanos's expression twitches. "Odd. I don't remember him mentioning a sister when he wept for someone to save him."

Undeterred, Hela presses forward, weapons spinning once, "Where. Is. He?"

"My child," Thanos sighs, "there is no point in trying to bury the dead who do not deserve it. Let him go, all you will find is pain there. I understand loss. Let me help you. I can help. I want to help. Your brother is dead."

Thor's stomach clenches, a horror setting into the small space between his heart and his lungs. Loki. Loki. Loki can't be dead. Thanos didn't kill him. He can't-he can't-

Thanos has the Tesseract.

They are just fooling themselves in thinking anything else happened.

Hela releases a roar. All calm exterior falls away and she leaps at Thanos. She slams her feet into his chest and plunges her blades deep into his chest. Thanos makes a noise that somewhere between a pained squish and an agonized wail.

Thor doesn't see exactly what happens next, but he sees as Hela is thrown back, landing on her back in a skid. It barely stops her, she leaps upright and draws another sword, diving back towards Thanos. She's pushing him back, further out of view and he can only hear half the battle. He can't see it, both from the angle and his blurring vision.

He doesn't feel right.

His lungs are…

He doesn't feel right.

Hela crashes into a tree a few dozen feet away as Thor tries to prop himself onto his elbow, getting up. His lungs scream and Thor feels something collapse inside, a sort of wetness spilling out, but it's not anything exterior.

A shadow falls over him and Thor jerks his head, seeing Thanos above him. A panicked noise slips from his throat and he grabs at sedir desperately, feeling the familiar hum of lightning through his bloodstream and blindly smacks the ground to feel for Thanos's boot.

He misses.

Thanos lifts up his hand. He grins, bloody and crooked. He looks at Thor first as if sharing some sort of secret before turning his gaze towards where Thor knows Hela must be. The Titan's fingers lift, thumb and third finger pressing together. They begin to slide, slowly, ever so slowly-because time has lost meaning and Thor can't breathe-down.

How many do we win?

None.

They never make it any further. Hela's bony fingers wrap around the Gauntlet, halting the descent.

Her nose is gushing blood and there's an awful wound on the side of her face where bruising has already begun to blossom. It looks like someone punched her. Her hands tremble at the force to keep him from moving, but she holds steady. Thor's vision is blurring, but it's enough to see this.

"You only wane the inevitable." Thanos draws, eyes narrowed as he fights against her. "Don't fight this."

Hela's expression shifts, something almost mirthful dancing up the edges of her face. Her lips remain pressed together, but he can see the creases ease. The Infinity Gauntlet begins to crack, going gray. It's dwarven metal, Thor realizes. It doesn't age like others. It's not like Earth's iron that will rust. As dwarven metal ages, it becomes rock.

It's how Hela destroyed Mjolnir. She aged it until it became a pile of stones at their feet.

She's doing the same thing to the Gauntlet. Her arms tremble beneath the force, but he can see how her nails are digging in, and how a misty gray is spreading over the metal. Thanos's eyes are widening with surprise.

"It's such a shame." Hela's teeth, when she smiles, are stained red. "I really thought you'd be more of a challenge. To be honest, I'm disappointed. I hope that you suffer in damnation."

Thanos smirks. Hela looks confused for a breathtaking moment before Thanos twists, yanking Hela sharply to the side to force an opening and Thor sees as a sword is plunged through her heart. It's one of her swords that she stabbed into his chest. Thor sees blood beginning to pool down the Titans front.

Thanos has two hands, not just one.

Thanos just stabbed his sister.

Through the heart.

"No!" The word tears from his lips despite everything, and his hand reaches for the Titan weakly. He still can't breathe. His bones are digging into where they should not. It hurts, Norns, it hurts. Hela. Hela, Hela-

Hela makes a weak noise before Thanos drops her, and she crumples immediately.

None.

He can't see her. Thanos's voice is sorrowful, but smug, "You should have gone for the head."

He snaps.

The entire world seems to jerk, the very fabric of the universe bending beneath the weight of Thanos's demand.

Thanos has won.

None.

Thor tries to get up, but collapses. He's panting, harsh, sharp breaths as he looks up at the Titan. "What did you do!?" he demands. His voice is a gurgling mess and he feels blood spill down his lips. Thanos looks at him, smiling, and lifts his hand. The Gauntlet, what was the Gauntlet, crumples to ash and bits of broken rock and his feet.

The universe shudders again.

Thanos's expression flickers with surprise, but he catches at least Space before it can crumple to the earth.

Thor's hand buzzes and he lifts it to see the glowing embers of electricity pulsing there. Thanos. He has to get the Stones. Has to...to undo whatever Thanos did. Has to...has to-A whisp of black and blue smoke wraps around the Titan and he vanishes. The Space Stone. Thanos doesn't have a Gauntlet, but he has the Space Stone.

How many do we win?

"Where'd he go?" Steve. "Thor. Thor!" He hears the captain moving frantically, and the familiar steps of Natasha behind him.

Blood gurgles in his throat, and Thor's hands tremble. Something is broken inside of him. Something that can't be fixed. It's too late for him. Thanos did more damage than he first thought. Thor thinks if he tries to get up he'll break something else.

Hela.

He has to get…

Steve's hand touches his shoulder, but Thor is already shoving up. He crumples, but pushes, crawling towards her side. His hand touches her shoulder and he rolls her to her back, grabbing at the hilt of the weapon and yanking it from her chest. Blood pools, and Thor's heart patters.

Ka-thump, thump, pah-thump.

"Hela," Thor whispers, his limbs are shaking. He wants to crumple. Blood spits from his mouth and he wipes at it with the back of his hand. "Hela, please."

She gasps sharply, red-tinted eyes snapping towards him. Something like a choked sob escapes her as she shoves up and wraps her arms around him sharply. "Thor," her voice is a strangled gasp. "Brother."

It's the first time that Thor can ever remember her initiating a hug. Even in his scattered memories. He holds her tightly, burying his head against her neck and allowing himself to crumple. His entire body is failing. He's going to be sick and all he's going to throw up is blood and maybe half an organ.

"Steve?" Barnes. Something clatters behind them, and he feels Hela stiffen, her sobs cutting short. Her arms tighten around him further.

Thor doesn't feel right.

He doesn't-

Hela shifts as if to move away and anxiety whirls in his stomach. He doesn't want to die alone. Norns. He can't...he can't do that. He's not brave enough. His hand shoots up, though he can't remember ever telling it to, and grabs at his sister. He connects with her arm.

"'ela." His voice is slurring. He can taste blood. Far too much.

Hela turns to look at him, and slides her arm down until their hands are clasped. He can feel how clammy her hand is. She's just as anxious as he is, perhaps even more. "Thor. Look at me, brother. You'll be fine. Keep breathing. It's alright. I'll fix this. I promise. You're going-"

His arm is…it…

Thor lifts his arm up and sees it beginning to crumple. It's like it's fine pottery being squished between a large hand. The sickness spreads up his body and Thor's eye shoots up to Hela, a shuddering breath of panic escaping him.

Thanos snapped.

He wiped out half the universe. Thor is not among the survivors.

"Thor!" Hela's voice is frantic. She grabs at him, her solid fingers feeling strange. His other hand is dusting, too; he's losing solidity. He doesn't...oh Norns, he's not ready to die. Wait! Wait-! "Brother, please-"

"'ela, I-"

Thor doesn't finish the sentence.

000o000

There was a time, once-long, _long _ago-that Hela was a dreamer. She'd sat at her father's feet and whispered her hopes and ambitions for the world. Drew up pictures of wild fantasies that never would have come to pass, but she'd been a child, and she hadn't understood. She'd been innocent. Untainted.

Ignorance is no longer a blessing she's gifted with. She hasn't had since her mother fell dead. Since her father transformed her. _Made her. _

She is not a dreamer anymore, but dropping to her knees beside her younger brother as the world fell apart around her, she'd hoped-_pled-_that he'd be spared. She knows very little of mercy, and shouldn't have expected anything more from the universe.

His ashes make her feel dirty. They're clinging to her hands and clothing, a rementant of her failure. He was bleeding. He was dying. And now he's gone, and she can do nothing to _stop it. _She is his sister. His _elder, _and it is her job to protect him and she _failed. _(Just like Loki, her brother, lost to the stars.)

This was her family.

And Thanos. Took. Everything.

The shock is wearing away, leaving only hate in its wake. It burns in her soul, churning inside her like a waging storm. Blood is dripping down the side of her head, spilling into her ear and down her neck, but she doesn't care. She stares down at the brown, tattered remains of her sibling and clenches her fists tightly, feeling the awful energy pounding at her ribcage.

She was so close.

_So Norns curse it close._

Thanos is going to pay. There is no question of this. Hela is going to tear his spine from his body and use it to strangle him. Maybe something worse if she can conjure it in time. Thor. _Thor. Thor. Thor._

_There is no point in trying to bury the dead who do not deserve it. Let the Jotun go._

Loki.

It takes her a moment to realize she's weeping, and another that she's screaming. A hoarse sound is being torn from her throat, raw and broken. Like her. Her fists clench around Thor's ashes before she slams her palms against the dirt, tipping forward and lets the scream break off into a strangled howl. She hears the rush of energy surge from her, rippling out. The earth moans around her, the death claiming anything within a fifteen foot radius.

Two trees topple from the force, shattering as brittle remains of wood and charred leaves smash into the ground.

Hela smashes her fist into the earth again, wishing that it would hurt. Pain would give her something else to focus on, but all she has is this empty ache of failure burned into her mind like a brand. This is her fault. If she'd been faster. _Stronger. _She could have saved both of them. Loki wouldn't be mutilated who-knows-where, and Thor a pile of ashes at her knees.

Her voice breaks and Hela grabs at her hair and yanks. The dirty ashes smear into the strands. She flinches back from it, suddenly desperate to remove the withered ashes of her brother. She rubs, brushes, and scratches, but it doesn't make it any better. She thinks she might be sick.

"Hela."

She stills, teeth snapping together and looks slowly back at the Captain. The Widow is just behind him, green eyes wide and blonde hair sticking to the sides of her face. Their shock is obvious, lips parted and tongues unable to form anything beyond basic syllables.

"What happened?" the Capian demands, moving towards her wearily. The Widow keeps a wary eye on the destroyed verdure, but Hela doesn't care. Let it rot. At least that way something will be as dead as she is.

Hela's muscles feel stiff, but she forces herself upright. She looks the Captain in the eye and sees his eyes widen just the slightest amount as he sees the damage done to her skull. If she focuses on anything but the searing heat in her stomach, she can feel the agonizing pain of the headache splitting the bone. It isn't important. Pain is no distraction to her anymore.

The Widow leans forward, lips parting as if to say something.

"He did it." Hela grits out before she can. Her voice is hoarse. She shakes herself of the ghost of Thor's hands reaching for her desperately and tightens her stance. "He snapped. You're a witness to the decimation because the Stones did not choose you. Congratulations."

The Captain's eyes widen slightly. "But-"

Hela shoves forward, nearly slamming face-first into the dirt at how much the world wobbles. "I don't have any more answers for you than what I've already given."

"Where's Thor?" the Widow demands. "Where is...oh," she stops, looking Hela up and down, her expression slipping into something open with despair. "He's gone, isn't he?"

_Shame. I would have liked to see that. _

Hela flinches. Resists the urge to reach forward and strangle the assassin. It isn't her fault. Her words make Thor's death make no less true. It only makes the contrast of her failure severe. "Yes." Hela hisses out.

The Captain exhales something heaving and painful. "No. That can't-"

"Denial makes the truth harder to swallow," Hela snaps, grabbing him by the front of his shirt and hauling him forward. "I failed. _Happy? _My _one _job in this asinine battle was to keep him from death so we could find our brother and now he _and _Loki are dead. The universe has lost half of its life. _There is nothing to be done. They're all dead!" _

She throws him back and he only catches his balance when the Widow grabs at his arm and keeps him that way. Hela releases a seething breath, trying to gain control of her temper before she accidently mutilates them. _You should have gone for-_

Silence envelopes them for a long moment before the Captain manages to gather his bearings and, in a soft tone, asks, "What do we do?"

Hela's jaw sets, she moves back and grabs Stormbreaker. She rips it from the earth and heaves it over her shoulder. It's slick with Thanos's blood and this is all too satisfying. "Isn't it obvious?" she asks, moving forward. "We're going to hunt him down and kill him. Tear the Stones from his rotting corpse and use his flesh to make a foot rug."

She tears forward and the two Avengers share a wide-eyed look before hobbling after her.

"H-how-? Where did he _go?" _the Captain questions. "You didn't see him...he's gone and we're...do you know where he is?"

"Haven't the foggiest." Hela snaps, not wanting to engage in small talk, but knowing that the mortals won't shut up unless she does. "But he best pray for his soul in his little time. His hours are numbered now."

000o000

_Later:_

Hela's vision blurs. She releases a gasping wet noise, moving her arms as if in a trance to slowly gather Loki's body into her arms. His limbs offer no resistance. His head falls against her shoulder, hair tickling her chin. Hela rests her head on top of his, squeezing her eyes shut and trying to understand the pain that's making her entire chest ache. She keeps him there for several long minutes before she begins to speak. "Loki," she struggles to form the word, "Loki."

He doesn't react.

He won't.

"Th-thank you. For what you did on the Bifrost...I-I was dying, brother, and no one could see that but you. You saved not just my life that day. For that you will always have my gratitude." She presses a kiss into his dark hair and sighs heavily.

The room seems unbearably thick and dark. She is alone here, but she needs to leave soon. Take his body and give him a proper funeral. Hela begins to shift, stretching out her legs and getting a better grip on the younger so she can pull him up when two hands come up to press against her back and she feels breath tickle her hair.

She stills, hardly daring to breathe. She waits in agony for several long seconds before a voice whispers into her ear, "Such kind words. Would you repeat them at my funeral?"

Hela jerks back, holding him at arm's length and sees Loki's blinking back at her. His face is relaxed, as though he hadn't been dead just moments before. Her jaw slackens, and she's not certain whether or not to hit him or scream. Instead, she does neither. Tears fall down her face, and she only stares, feeling like a helpless child.

Loki shakes and then tilts his head, some sort of popping noise grinding out from his neck, and then the familiar pale Aesir skin washes over his features. His dark green eyes meet hers, and Hela snaps her mouth shut. Sedir. He just used _sedir _and he's not supposed to.

"H-how?" Is all she can strangle out.

Loki reaches for her hands, squeezing them tightly. "I masked my life signature. Sometimes...sometimes they would pretend to be who I knew, and I figured if I was dead then they...I didn't know how to do it until a few weeks ago. I had to be sure that you…"

_Were real. _

Reality seems to weigh on her shoulders and Hela's jaw tightens. She remembers his words and releases and enraged growl, shoving him. Loki staggers somewhat, mouth opening to protest, but Hela wraps her arms around his thin frame and squeezes him.

"I hate you." She promises.

Loki laughs, but rests his head on her shoulder, holding her just as close. "I know." He assures. She can feel his heartbeat, the expansion of his chest. How very real and alive he is.

"I'm going to cut off all your fingers." She threatens. "You are such a pain in the-"

"Start with my left hand?" Loki questions cheekily.

"You don't get to choose."

"They're _my _hands!" But even through his indignation, she can feel how he trembles. How his voice cracks and the way his fingers tighten on her spine like he's afraid she'll vanish into thin air.

She doesn't let him go.

* * *

"Loki," Hela whispers, moving towards his prone form, weapon at the ready. She looks behind her once to confirm that the hall is still empty. "Brother, get up," she urges, taking a few more steps into the room. Loki doesn't move, laying on the floor with his head turned away from her.

"Come on you idiot," she chides, "we have to get out of here. Thanos has all the Stones, he's going to be here any second. He's snapped and-I...I don't know what to do." She admits softer, her voice barely above a whisper. "Thor is dead."

This doesn't get a rouse out of him either.

He must be unconscious.

He's laying in a pool of his own blood.

The scent hits her then, as if having waited for her agitation to calm somewhat before introducing itself. Blood. A lot of it. Dread seeps into her stomach tight enough to make her grimace faintly and she drops her position of defense to move towards him rapidly.

A soft swear escapes her and she retracts the weapon into her skin, hating the slight tingle of her skin gives as it's forced to move to adjust for the metal. She moves towards her brother and collapses by his side, frantically trying to find the source of the wound that's making him bleed out.

No.

Not now.

She can fix this. She can...she'll fix this. She will. She's no healer, but she's dressed enough wounds to have a basic understanding. She won't let him die. Not after Thor. She won't lose the rest of her family to the Titan. Not like this. They were supposed to go to Midgard together. They were…

Stop acting like he's dead!

She rolls him onto his back and exhales sharply with horror. Loki's limbs are stiff as if he's resisting her, but she knows that he isn't. Red eyes stare forward listlessly, one hand draped over his chest. There's old blood dried in a path from his nose, mouth, and ears leading to his crooked neck. He looks like he was weeping it.

"No," Hela whispers.

Let this be a jest. Oh, Allfathers, let this...

The blood is from a gash across his stomach, the wound having long-since dried. Loki's blue skin is pale, his entire body drained of all life. The stiffening, the dried blood...this was hours-Stop!

"No, no, no," she breathes. This can't be happening. This isn't happening. She's dreaming. She'll wake up and they'll all be on the Statesmen before any of this went wrong. Loki will be pacing, Thor will be irritating her. They'll both be alive.

Loki can't be dead.

Hela lifts a hand over his mouth, trying to feel for breath that isn't coming. His lips remain split, but nothing passes through them. Her vision blurs and she shakes her head sharply. She's just panicked, is all. She can't feel the breath because of that. She leans down and rests her head down on his thin chest, praying for a heartbeat. For breath. For anything to show her that she's wrong, and Loki wasn't killed so Thanos could have the Space Stone. That she wasn't late by hours and that her siblings aren't dead.

That she didn't fail-

That she's not alone-

She presses harder. Loki's skin is cold. She can feel it through his shirt. Her throat feels hot and she feels something wet slip down her face. Tears. She's crying. He's not dead! He can't be dead! She didn't-

No!

She pulls back from his chest and touches his frigid cheek. "Loki," her voice strangles around the word and she hates herself for it. "Loki, look at me. Brother, please, don't-" she breaks off. "Don't do this. Stop it. Wake up!" She slaps him, but it does nothing. Breath doesn't spontaneously begin to move inside his chest and his heart doesn't magically start beating again.

She can't see anything. The world is wet.

"Loki!" her voice is raised a pitch. "Stop it! Don't do this-Breathe!"

It does nothing. She could scream and scream and scream, but it won't change anything.

She gathers him into her arms, his dead weight almost nothing. His head lolls. She chokes and hates how tight her chest feels. She can't breathe. She shakes her head again, dark hair falling in front of her face for a moment.

He's so cold.

He shouldn't be this cold. She can remember his fingers, warm, as they touched her knee in the midst of her panic attack so many months ago. His voice, calm but gentle as he spoke to her.

He'd been warm.

He'd been breathing.

He'd been here.

Thor was there. Thor was alive. She could touch him. He'd been touching her. It was the first time she can remember being looked after by anyone but Laufey.

He's not moving anymore.

Like her Amma.

Like her soldiers, dead beneath the palace.

Fenris, burned alive.

He's dead weight against her and it's wrong. Loki shouldn't be like this. He should have movement. He should breathe. He should wake up and talk to her. He has to come back. He has to come back with Thor because they were supposed to wait-

"Come back," she sobs into the dark, but there's no one to hear her.

Cold.

Blood.

Alone.

Ash.

Wet.

Howling.

Nothing. Nothing at all but the sound of her ragged breathing and the creak of the ship around her. Her family is dead. They left her alone. Is her title death because she brings it or because she can never escape it?

What does she do…?

Where does she…?

(Loki is cold.)

She tries to steady her ragged breathing and lifts a hand to run through Loki's long dark hair. It's laced with blood and ice. "Please breathe, brother," she whispers. "You're safe now. I've got you. Please breathe. Please…"

This is happening.

She's lost everything.

Loki is dead. And has been for hours. She was too late to save him. Too late for Thor. Too late for everything-

A sob bubbles from her throat and she cradles her sibling, pulling him into an embrace that he can no longer feel and rocking back and forth. "Come back," she whispers quietly, though she knows there's no point. She can't seem to stop. "Please come back. I can't…I-I can't do this without…" she squeezes her eyes and pinches her lips together.

Loki's body offers no warmth.

No comfort.

She is holding her baby brother's corpse. Thor withered to dust in her arms. She is alone.

She doesn't know how long she sits there, holding Loki's corpse like if she does it long enough it will breathe life into him, but when she finally settles him back onto the floor and closes his eyes with her left hand as gently as she can, there's someone in the doorway. She stiffens as she sees the massive shadow behind her, but she's not entirely sure if she cares if they kill her.

Let them get on with it. There is nothing in life for her anymore. Everything she loves has stepped through death's door and slammed it in her face. It is so much easier to be the one killed than the one left to suffer the losses.

She lifts a hand to her mouth to cover a fresh wave of tears and hates herself. She never cries. She didn't cry when Odin banished her, she didn't cry when her mother was murdered in front of her, she didn't cry when she discovered Odin never loved her. When everyone she knew had forgotten her. When her siblings tried to kill her.

And now she will not stop weeping.

"This day has taken many tolls." Thanos says behind her. Quietly. Mournfully. She feels her spine stiffen. "You must look toward the future now, my child. Your gratitude will provide the healing you so desire."

Gratitude-

Hela stops. Rage she hasn't felt since she first landed in Helheim, broken and alone, consumes her. Her entire body feels alight with a burning fire. She feels sick with it.

"Gratitude?" she repeats. Her voice is low.

He killed her entire family. She's supposed to be grateful about that!?

"Of course." Thanos says, "The strongest sacrifices need the greatest wills. I have done this universe a service. I know that. It's only a matter of time before you know that, too."

Hela's teeth set. Slowly, carefully, she lowers her brother's corpse and rises up to her feet. Bloody hair falls in front of her face and her tattered clothing digs into her injuries. Her head cocks slightly as she stares at the shadow of the Titan. She glances once at Loki's corpse again.

"You misunderstand me then," Hela states flatly, "if you ever think I would be grateful for what you did."

Thanos sighs behind her, as if resigned. She hears the Infinity Gauntlet begin to power and Hela spins her wrists, summoning a blade into each hand as she flexes her wrist. If it hurts, she doesn't know. She tosses hair from her face and narrows her eyes.

She turns to face the Titan and sees him reading his weapon. Loki's blood stains her fingers. Thor's ash lingers in her hair.

Hela adjusts her grip on her swords. "You took everything from me."

"You must have had very little then." Thanos murmurs.

She built it all from nothing. What does he expect? Hela's lips split into a dangerous laugh. "I will be very grateful when you lay dead at my feet." She twirls her left blade, tensing her exhausted body for another fight.

Thanos holds six Infinity Stones.

But she has nothing to lose anymore.

Hela releases a cry of rage, anger, pain-everything and dives at him, blades twirling. Thanos braces himself and she collides.

#

There was a time once-long, long ago-that Hela was a dreamer. She'd sat at her father's feet and whispered her hopes and ambitions for the world. Drew up pictures of wild fantasies that never would have come to pass, but she'd been a child, and she hadn't understood. She'd been innocent. Untainted.

Ignorance is no longer a blessing she's gifted with. She hasn't had since her mother fell dead. Since her father transformed her. Made her.

She is not a dreamer anymore, but dropping to her knees beside her younger brother as the world fell apart around her, she'd hoped-pled-that he'd be spared. She knows very little of mercy, and shouldn't have expected anything more from the universe.

His ashes make her feel dirty. They're clinging to her hands and clothing, a rementant of her failure. He was bleeding. He was dying. And now he's gone, and she can do nothing to stop it. She is his sister. His elder, and it is her job to protect him and she failed. (Just like Loki, his corpse still unattended in that room.)

This was her family.

And Thanos. Took. Everything.

The shock is wearing away, leaving only hate in its wake. It burns in her soul, churning inside her like a waging storm. Blood is dripping down the side of her head, spilling into her ear and down her neck, but she doesn't care. She stares down at the brown, tattered remains of her sibling and clenches her fists tightly, feeling the awful energy pounding at her ribcage.

She was so close.

So Norns curse it close.

Thanos is going to pay. There is no question of this. Hela is going to tear his spine from his body and use it to strangle him. Maybe something worse if she can conjure it in time. Thor. Thor. Thor.

Your gratitude will provide the healing you so desire.

Loki.

It takes her a moment to realize she's weeping, and another that she's screaming. A hoarse sound is being torn from her throat, raw and broken. Like her. Her fists clench around Thor's ashes before she slams her palms against the ship, tipping forward and lets the scream break off into a strangled howl. She hears the rush of energy surge from her, rippling out. The metal moans around her, creaking and cracking, as if rusting. As if it's dying.

Hela smashes her fist into the earth again, wishing that it would hurt. Pain would give her something else to focus on, but all she has is this empty ache of failure burned into her mind like a brand. This is her fault. If she'd been faster. Stronger. She could have saved both of them. Loki wouldn't be mutilated and Thor a pile of ashes at her knees.

Her voice breaks and Hela grabs at her hair and yanks. The dirty ashes smear into the strands. She flinches back from it, suddenly desperate to remove the withered ashes of her brother. She rubs, brushes, and scratches, but it doesn't make it any better. She thinks she might be sick.

The humming of the Reality Stone hums in her presence and Hela releases several gasping breaths, turning to look back at it. She can't remember the last time that the Stone was solid instead of dust. She didn't even know that was possible.

Hela scrambles for it, grasping the Stone tightly in one hand and cracking the outer shell between her desperate grip. The Stone splits through the glass like fine sand and Hela holds it in her fingers, clenching it desperately.

The power surges up her hand, through her skin and makes her heart twist in her stomach. The rush makes her sick, but she manages to hold herself together. The pain is intense, but the surge of it is strange and a welcome relief from her thoughts.

Anything but this. Anything but this. Anything-

She tumbles.

Falling fast and hard, scattering and reforming, screaming only to silence. She collapses and reforms, her body shaking with the power, but relishing it all the same.

Hela-

She-

It…

Hela smashes into the earth. Her back hits something solid, something cold, and she gasps sharply as the frigid air hits her. Her breath escapes in a puff of steam. Hela stares up at the cloud covered sky, the snow gently falling down towards her face in gentle waves.

Hela releases a harsh noise, fingers clawing into the earth. The snow.

Jotunheim. This is Jotunheim. How did she-?

A soft laugh catches her attention, and a face appears over her. Blue. Lines drawn around the face, red eyes staring down towards her. Hela's stomach clenches. Faburti. How...she's dead. She's been dead for hundreds of years. She's…

"Perhaps we ought to start spiking your shoes. Maybe it would help you keep your balance." Faburti laughs again, her voice high and musical. Hela stares at her, uncomprehending. Her veins are burning, but she can't...how is she here again? How...how…?

Faburti's head tilts, black hair falling over her shoulders. "Hela?"

"I…" Hela blinks, shoving up onto one elbow. The familiar landscape of the Jontar land meets her gaze readily. She inhales sharply, something longing clawing at her chest for a similar time. When she lived here, she didn't care for Thor, or for Loki...she didn't know that it would end this way.

Faburti squats down beside her, face concerned. "You don't seem well."

"You're dead." Hela counters sharply, hair falling over her shoulders.

"No...did you hit your head when you fell. Here, let me see-" Faburti's fingers reach for Hela's head, but when they brush against her, Hela screams. Pain intense enough to make her heave screeches through her and she panics because Faburti has never burned her before. Jotun can control their burn. Loki didn't know how, but Faburti has never hurt her and-

What is going-?

Her thoughts grow hazy and Hela vomits, spitting up the meager rations that Thor forced upon her earlier. (Was that really today?) When she manages to lift her head, she isn't on Jotunheim anymore.

Sedir wielders are leaning over her. Her wrists and ankles are restrained to the bed with shackles.

No.

No-

She struggles, but it's as futile as it has been for years. "Don't-" her voice is a rasp. Their masked faces reveal nothing. One leans over her face.

"She wasn't meant to be awake now." She whispers softly. "Who broke the spell?"

No one answers and Hela's chest heaves with panic. The sorceress leans over her, fingers reaching for her face. "Stop!" she shouts, but the fingers make contact and Hela tumbles again, falling through the table and slamming back-first against the ground.

She...the Stone. Hela has the Stone and it…

Fur brushes against her face and Hela stiffens before opening her eyes and sees Fenris leaning over her. The wolf growls in question, attempting to nudge her up, but the scene breaks.

She falls again.

Hela lands in the middle of a battlefield. The taste of ash is thick on her tongue and blood is covering her hands. She looks up at sees Odin standing in front of her. He's scowling at something beyond her,

#

"Loki," Hela breathes, moving her hand to touch his face. Her fingers ghost through him, and she feels an awful sensation of wrong settle inside her stomach. She stares at him. Her fingers slide through the other side of his face and Loki gives her a sad smile.

He is but a shade.

He is not here.

Loki is still dead. His corpse rotting on Thanos's ship.

"I didn't make it in time." She whispers, she looks away from him, unable to bear the weight of his stare.

Loki is quiet for a moment before he says, softer, "Hela."

"I tried." Hela grits her teeth and digs her hands into her hair. "I tried and I tried, but it meant nothing. You're still dead. Thor is dead. Half of everyone is dead. Why couldn't the Stone have taken me!? I have served no purpose here but to bring hate and suffering. I want to die! I failed you! I should have saved you. Why aren't you angry!? All I've done is arrived too late and yet you're-"

"Hela."

She swears and throws her sword to the ground. She thinks she might cry again and bites back her tears. She has spent far too much time weeping now.

"Sister, look at me."

She raises her head slowly. Loki reaches for her, but stops before his form slips through her. "None of this was your fault," Loki says softly.

Hela snorts. "All of this is my fault."

Loki shakes his head and says solemnly, "My birthright was to die, sister. There is nothing that you could have done to stop it. If it was not by Thanos's hand, it would have been by my sedir's. I knew what my fate would be when I left. It's okay."

"No, it's not! Because you're still dead, and Thor's still dead, and half of Asgard is still dead, and everyone is still dead and I'm alone, again-"

"You're not alone. I'm right here." Loki interrupts.

She swings his fist through his face to make her point. He startles back, but no harm comes to him. "No, you're not." Hela seethes. "You're a figment of my wild mind. You can't be here. It's not possible."

"I'm dead." Loki chokes. "I would rather like to think the mortal weight of my bones no longer obey the laws of the living."

"Then fix this!" Hela tries to keep her temper in check, but fails. She whirls on him, rage seething through her body and out through her toes. The foliage withers and grays, blackening with rot. With death.

Loki eyes it, but it's not with a warniess of fear. Only resignation.

"You will never understand what it feels like to lose everything! I grew up with nothing. The one thing I had was you and Thor and now that's gone, too! Everything I try to keep slips through my fingers. I...I'm a plague. A death."

She staggers back.

Her legs don't feel capable of bearing her weight any longer.

She tumbles to her knees and doesn't get up. Loki waits. He slowly kneels down next to her and tilts his head slightly to the left. The action is so familiar it makes a part of her gut twist with longing. Loki's head tilts subconsciously, as if he's not aware he's performing the action until he realizes his vision isn't quite right.

"No." Loki says softly and looks up towards her. His eyes are burning with a fierce passion. "You are my sister. You are a pain in the butt. And I do not believe that something as fickly as a few Infinity Stones is going to stand in the way of you finishing this."

"And what if I don't? I am the Reality Stone. I could create a new reality. One where we never had to deal with Odin. Where Thanos never caught you. Where he's not even real. I could create a paradise."

Loki's expression is impossibly sad. He sighs softly, "And it would never be what is. We would not be what we are. There is always a cost."

She blinks. "But if I don't do this, I can't save you."

Loki smiles softly and reaches out for her hand. His wisy fingers touch her lightly. "Let me go. It will be okay."

* * *

Deleted Scene I never Found A Place For:

Thor wakens to water.

It's poured over his head in a bounteous amount, leaving him gasping and inhaling more than he means to. Coughing, he jerks up onto his hands and knees, attempting to breathe. His throat burns from the salt and his lips taste funny. Swallowing anyway, he blinks several times and realizes that his surroundings are almost blinding. They're so bright and white, it reminds him of Asgard's prisons. But Asgard had always been tinted with yellow.

This is just white.

What…?

What is going on?

Why can't he remember how he got here? He...no there's nothing. He swears he was with Loki and then...and then he doesn't know. Loki. Where is his brother? Where is here? Why is he here? How did he get here? Why isn't he on the Statesmen? Where is Hela?

What happened?

"Awake at last?" a silky, but oh so familiar voice questions. Thor jerks, scrambling back onto his knees and looks up at the source of the noise. There is no shadows for them to hide behind, with how bright the room is, it's impossible to cast shadows. Thor winces at the strain his eyes immediately take on from trying to process this.

There are no windows. No doors. Nothing but a set of four blank white walls with those blasted lights at the edges.

"You really love your beauty sleep, don't you little brother?" Thor lifts his eyes from the growing puddle of water to his sister. Hela's face is tilted as she stares at him. She's squatting, hand lazily resting on one knee. In her other hand is a canteen, which is where he suspects the water came from. Hela hums, looking him up and down. "Then again, given...this," she gestures towards him, "I can understand why."

Thor's brows furrow. He ignores the jibe. It doesn't seem important. "Hela...Hela what is going on? Where are we?"

His sister's lip twitches with a smile. Something is off about her hands. He lifts his gaze towards her face, and realizes that the same offsettidness taints her eyes. He doesn't know what it is that's bothering him, only that something is.

"Are you thirsty?" Hela questions, lifting up the canteen.

Thor eyes it warily. He is. His throat is burning and he thinks that his stomach is trying to wrap knots around his intestines. Something inside him quietly insists that he should wait, despite his first instinct which is to reach forward and take the canteen from her. It would be simple. She's given him water plenty of times before.

Why is he hesitating?

Hela's smile grows wider, which only makes it look more strained. "You must be thirsty. You've been asleep for a long time, brother."

"How long?" Thor presses.

Hela's smile falls the slightest bit, something angry slipping onto her face instead. "Fifteen, sixteen hours. I can't remember. It's been a while." She waves a careless hand-Norns what is wrong with it?-and adjusts her posture slightly.

"Where are we?" Thor asks, sitting up a little straighter and trying to find cracks in the room. They couldn't have built this entire wall up around them. Whoever "they" is. This isn't the Statesmen, that much he's certian of. He doesn't know what they were doing before they got here. Thor rubs his temples and tries to calm his racing nerves.

Calm down. Stop and think.

He's with his sister. They're locked in a room together. She has a canteen of water and access to innumerable amount of weapons. He's a living lightning rod. A quick patting down of his armor and clothing reveals that all his hidden weapons have been snitched from him. Not that there was many to begin with, but there was some.

"The room." Hela says.

Thor stops. "'The room'?"

"Yes." Hela insists, voice dropping an octave, "The room."

Thor squints and suddenly wonders if she's drunk. Or drugged. It could explain why something just seems to be off about her. He doesn't understand what he's doing here. Norns, he doesn't know how he even got here.

"Are you…" Thor trails, trying to decide how best to ask this. "Are you okay?"

Hela smiles, but it's sharp. "Of course." She lifts out the canteen again. "Drink."

The inner voice screams don't! again, but Thor shoves it down. This is his sister. She has done more than enough to earn his trust. He can...he can drink the water. Thor's fingers brush against hers for the briefest moment and feels his mouth turn down into a frown. Her skin feels off. It's...warm. She's never been as cold as Loki, but she's always felt...dead. Not warm. Never warm.

Thor holds the canteen, looking down at the sloshing liquid inside. It's clear and doesn't smell dangerous, but in the span of things, that doesn't really matter. A thought occurs to him, sluggishly slow. His entire brain feels like it's being dragged through thick tar. "Hela-Hela where is Loki? I don't remember what happened, but he was with me. Why are you here?"

How can he remember Loki, but not her? Were all of them together when this happened? Wouldn't he remember that?

Hela's watching him unblinkingly. Her fists are clenched. "Oh. Him. I don't know," Hela says flippantly, almost carelessly, "he wasn't here."

Something strikes him as odd about that.

What happened? By the Nine he feels like he's grasping at answers, but they keep slipping from his fingertips. He remembers talking with Loki. They were on the Statesmen, Hela's voice is a monotone in the background, she was sitting down, braiding her hair. He has no idea why he remembers that, only that he does. Loki was sharpening one of his daggers. They were…

What were they talking about?

Then he and Loki left...where to evades him. They discussed with someone...about something. It was in a large room with pillars. Royalty, maybe? The halls were white. Maybe he's still on the realm that the pillar room came from. But Hela wasn't there. So why is she with him now?

Hela nudges the canteen pointedly.

He is still thirsty.

Thor lifts the canteen to his lips and takes a sip. His body immediately rejects it and he sputters, coughing and hacking as he attempts to purge his throat and tongue from the dreadful substance. It burns. Like acid, or some sort of pain synthesizer. He knows of potions that Alfheim created that, once swallowed, turn on every pain receptor the liquid touches, and this reminds him bizzardinly of that.

It hurts.

Why did she give him something that-

A hand-still warm, still something wrong with her fingers-grabs at the back of his scalp and yanks down as a dagger is pinned against his throat. Thor coughs several more times, but his mouth is still on fire and his jaw won't stop twitching. Hela's eyes are hard as she pulls him down, causing pain to spread down his neck and through his scalp.

What is-

He didn't even see her move.

"Where is it?" she hisses. Thor stares at her, confused. Where-what? "Where is it!?" she demands harder, shaking him roughly. Skin on his neck breaks and he panics, trying to mumble something out. It doesn't work, his tongue is flopping around his mouth. He'll swallow it before he gets anything out.

"'Don…" he manages to say. "What're talkin'...?"

The water-a warning agent? Something to lower his gaurd?

Hela makes a noise of disgust and presses the dagger harder. (That's Loki's. Why does she have Loki's-?) She's going to kill him. Norns, she's-he breathes out sharply, clenching his fists and swallowing carefully. Why is she trying to kill him!? Thor thought that she'd stopped acting on her anosisity for him months ago. (Had honestly, privately thought that there was nothing there anymore. Or at least very little.)

"Do you think me a fool, darling? I know you've had it all these months." She says flatly. "Where is it?"

Thor strains; leaning back slightly, wishing his hair was shorter. "I don't…" he swallows, wincing, "I don' kn'w what y're talking abou'."

Hela rolls her eyes and drops him, letting him collapse against the floor, back first. His head hits with a ka-thumping noise and the world spins. He grimaces, hands going to his temples to try and ease the pressure only for a boot to slam against his chest. Hela looks down at him, sneering. "The Tesseract, you moron. I know that you have it. It's power has been wafting behind you since we met after Ragnarok."

Thor stares at her.

The…

What?

"I don't have the-" his voice breaks and he swallows, wishing for water. "The Tesseract was destroyed on Asgard."

What is wrong with her hands? Why can't he determine that? Why is this bothering him now? His sister has gone insane and he, as is normal, is worried about her hands. "Ragnarok. You nearly died." He reminds.

Hela makes a frustrated noise. "If the Tesseract was destroyed on Asgard, why do you and our brother reek of it?" she waves a hand as if sensing for something with magic, but that doesn't make sense because Hela doesn't have sedir.

"I don't know. We don'-" he coughs, grabbing at her foot and attempting to shift it. "We don't have it."

Loki didn't take it. Thor doesn't have it. It's an Infinity Stone, so he doubts that it was actually destroyed when Asgard supernova-ed, but it's among the rubble. It's been what? Eight, nine months now? It could be scattered halfway across space for all he knows. They didn't look back. It was too dangerous. It will be too dangerous to try and dig through Asgard's rubble for another few decades if they're lucky. Centuries, more likely.

"Mm. I think not. Cast your mind back a little harder." Hela demands, leaning down and hauling him up by the throat. "I want that cube. I need it. Think harder. Where is it?"

Thor grabs at her forearms, trying to ease the pressure. He releasing a panicking huff, his mind frantically running around and trying to remind him how much danger he's in. It won't stop casting itself backwards, reminding him of the first fight he and Hela went through. Her pinning him against the column, voice hard and eyes dangerous.

Here's the difference between you and me-

"Hela, please," Thor chokes, his vision blurring. "Sister…" Hela stares at him, her expression blank. When his vision is beginning to go dark, her grip loosens and he falls to his knees hacking. He drinks in air greedily, hand coming to rub against his throat. It's wet with blood from where the dagger pierced.

Hela squats down in front of him. "Brother. This is no time for games. Where is the Tesseract? Your survival rides on this."

Thor spits blood out. Betrayal stains his vision and makes his fingers itch. How could he have ever thought that she was an ally? That she was his sister? How could he have believed her changed? Capable of redemption?

Odin was right.

She is nothing but a power hungry-

"No answer." Hela clicks her tongue and lifts up a hand, smoothing it across his cheek. He flinches, trying to draw back from it. Her touch is still so wrong. The calluses don't feel like they're in the right spot. Her skin is warm. Alive. "Of course. Of course. I shouldn't have expected anything more. You and your brother as so helplessly stubborn when it comes to these answers."

Thor jerks his head up. His throat feels tight and words even more impossible. "L'ki. Where...where is...what'd'ou-"

Hela smiles with teeth. "Here's the deal, darling. You give me the Tesseract, which I know you have, and I'll let you and your brother go free. No pain, no games. That's it. Smooth transaction. If you don't tell me where it is, then you will suffer, but every answer you withhold will be a punishment your brother takes."

Your?

She's always referred to him as "our."

"L'ki-" Thor says, panicked. "Don't...leave...him...out of this."

Hela laughs, low and dark. "Oh, darling. You brought him into this when you let him handle the Tesseract." His sister leans in towards his face, lip curled. "You stopped me from getting Howf-the sword, and this is the next best thing. Did you really think that I would simply put away all my plans so quickly?"

Yes.

Thor doesn't know what to say to that, so he doesn't say anything. Hela lifts up a hand, a lock of dark hair between two fingertips. Loki's. His hair has always been so dark it looks blue in the right lighting, and he knows it. It's slick with blood. "Just in case you're struggling with belief. I do have him."

Thor makes a weak grab for the hair, but Hela only laughs and snatches it away. "Now, now, brother. There's plenty of hair to pull out strand by strand. Don't worry your ugly head over it."

Thor stares at her. "You're insane."

She smiles, "Oh, undoubtedly so." Then she slams her fist into his face. His head smashes against the floor and the world spins. His nose is bleeding and he thinks he's making weird wheezing noises. Is that supposed to be breath? Hela steps over him and grabs a fistful of his hair and slams his head against the ground again.

And again.

And again.

Blood spills down his neck, and Thor's struggles go lax as his mind finally aborts consciousness.

000o000

Thor wakes.

His head is burning and attempting to open his eye only spurs

#

"Do you have the Tesseract?"

Thor refuses to look at her. He's sitting in the middle of the room, cross legged and refusing to stare at anything beyond the cold floor beneath his feet. He hasn't said a word since she entered and he's not about to break that trend.

"Come on," Hela pushes. She's standing, arms folded across her chest. "You're just being a fool now, you know that, don't you?"

#

"Dearheart." The voice is quiet and Thor stills. His breath seizes in his chest and he looks up. His eye strains at the light and he winces, squeezing it shut and covering it with his hand for good measure. "Dearheart, what are you doing here?"

It's her voice.

How is it her voice? She's been dead for four years.

A gentle hand rests on his shoulder and he flinches. The fingers are warm. They feel a little off, but still familiar enough. It's actually touching him.

"Mother," Thor croaks.

She gently secures the blindfold around his eye. "There," his mother says and smooths down the fabric against his skull. "Is that better?"

#

"You're not real."

None of this has been real.

#

Hela flips down the paper, letting it fall at his feet. "You don't sleep until you tell me where the cube is. Your brother isn't exactly in a talking state anymore." She grins self righteously, and it only makes Thor feel sick. He looks down at the note and sees that it's smeared in blood. He thinks it was supposed to be a handprint, but they failed when they applied too much blood.

Blood.

#

"You're not my sister." Thor croaks out. His voice feels dry and broken.

"Am I not?"

"No." Thor insists, shaking his head. "Hela's fingers are cold. You don't stand like her. And she isn't a sedir wielder. Who are you?"

"I ask the questions here."

"But you don't deny it?" Thor doesn't get a response. The sting of the sleeping powder hits his face and he's asleep before he can protest.

He wakes.

His throat burns and his eyes are stinging, but the panic at knowing he fell asleep is unlike any other. Loki. Oh, Norns, Loki. The damage that will have been done because he fell asleep, because he was so careless as to let his brother-

No, no, no.

How could he have done this!?

Thor jerks back, attempting to shove himself up to his feet by pure willpower alone, but his leg is burning and his eyes feel heavy with the blindfold, his back burns, his fingers are still twitching, he can't. He can't. He has to keep pushing, but he can't.

Up. Get up you lazy-

"Shh," the voice is soft, and Thor didn't realize he's crying until he hears it. His own sobs sound broken and pathetic. His pain is so little compared to what Loki must be feeling. How can he show such weakness when-

"Shh, shh, Thor," it's female. Why is it being nice to him? Where is the pain? The taunting? "Darling…"

He flinches.

Hela. (Shapeshifter.)

She's-This must be some new form of torture she has concocted. Something she's pulled together in an effort to drive him further mad. When her pain did not work, her kindness is meant to break him. (It will. By the Nine, they both know it will.)

"We don't have it." Thor gasps, "I swear we don't have it."

A hand softly touches at his face. The fingers are cold, thin, and bone-like. They feel dead. His chest compresses, and he hates how hope bubbles up in him. This isn't Hela. It's never Hela. "Thor..." His sister's voice is soft. With a guiding hand, she gently tips his face towards where he presumes her face must be. The blindfold covers everything, leaving him bathed in the all-too familiar Stygian.

"We don't...we don't have the Tesseract." Thor repeats. "It's gone. You're never going to get it."

"I don't want it." Hela murmurs. A hand touches the back of his head and he flinches, panic stirring in his stomach as it continues to slowly work with the knot keeping it in place. The light. She's going to expose him to the light and it hurts.

"Please…" Thor pleads. "Please don't."

The hands stop. "Nothing is going to happen, brother." Hela says firmly. "I'm here now."

"Loki is-" his voice breaks. He doesn't want to explain this to her when she already knows the rules.

"Fine." Hela inputs. "Alive, at least. We're looking after him. He's already out."

"This isn't real." Thor whispers.

"It is." Hela counters, her thumb gently strokes his cheekbone. It feels funny. Too narrow and thin. He recognizes this touch, when the other was wrong and imperfect. "It is very real. I'm here, brother. You're safe." How is she so calm? In the fantasies of his mind, when she would come for them (when he didn't doubt her), she as a raging hero of movement and anger. She wasn't...placid.

He shakes his head. "Loki's not. We don't-"

"-have the Tesseract, I know." Hela says quietly, thumb stroking his cheek again. "Just rest, brother. Let me take care of everything else."

Thor closes his eye. He tries to breathe and remain calm when arms slide beneath his knees and under his shoulder blades heaving up him upwards with an ease that doesn't seem practical. He feels heavy and disgusting. And so empty.

Thor lets himself succumb to the dream, even though he knows he's not meant to be sleeping.

000o000

Thor wakes.

He's laying on something soft. His leg has been bound and everywhere else that was aching. His hands are still twitching, but it no longer feels like he's dying.

Loki.

He jerks, attempting to sit up and free himself from the tangle of medical equipment and useless aids for his health. He needs to get to his brother. If he doesn't help Loki, then he will remain there and continue to be punished for Thor's lazing about. He shouldn't have been sleeping. If he'd just-

"Thor. Stop." The voice is firm. It doesn't sound backwards or as if its been grinding. It's cool, calm, and clear. Hands press against his chest and shove him back down. Thor panics and his eye opens to attempt to make out the blurry figures. The light burns and he winces, squeezing it closed again.

A mewling noise escapes him.

"Shh," Hela soothes softly, bony fingers wrapping around his left hand. "It's alright. You're safe. There is no one in this room but you and I. You're on the Statesmen. It's been over sixteen days since you left."

Thor struggles with that a moment. He hasn't known the day since before his capture, and he can't even recall details of how he got there in the first place, still. Sixteen days? That's...that's more than a fortnight. What happened? Where is he now?

He can't be dreaming, right? His dreams are rarely so specific. He would have guessed less than a week. Not half a month.

He doesn't brave the light just yet, instead letting the sensations of the room cloud his attention. He can hear the soft breaths of a few other people. The clicking of a pen against paper. The familiar hum of the Statesmen's engines. He can smell antiseptic, Hela's strangely coconut and old fabric scent, plastic. This isn't the room.

He's in the Statesmen.

He's actually in the Statesmen.

He swallows, and then asks as quietly as he's capable, "Sister?"

The scribbling stops and the cold fingers give a gentle squeeze of confirmation. Thor attempts to blink carefully, trying to test the light. It stings, but he hears someone shift to his right-he tenses, expecting a blow-and the power of the light lessons considerably.

Forcing himself to relax, Thor opens his eye and blinks up into the ceiling. It blurs at first, and then slowly comes into focus. It's gray and he can see the bolts from where it was welded together. Any remaining doubts are washed away as he sees anything beyond white. This isn't the room.

He allows his gaze to remain on the ceiling for a long few moments before slowly shifting it across the room. It's he and his siblings room in the Statesmen. A cot has been set up against one of the empty far walls, various medical equipment strewn about. A blanket is tucked up to his waist and he's in a loose gray shirt.

There's a deep gash on the wall beside the door he doesn't remember being there, but it matches his memory perfectly otherwise.

He can't see Eir or any of her aids and concludes that Hela must have spoken the truth when she said they were alone.

His stomach churns in anticipation, but he forces himself to tip his head towards his right where Hela is seated. Her dark eyes are already looking towards him. He tries to withhold his flinch, but he thinks he doesn't succeed as well as he was hoping. It isn't the same as the shapeshifter. Nothing looks wrong with her eyes, there is no constant companion of ELEPHANT with her.

If he didn't know better he'd say she even looks a little sick. Her cheekbones are sticking out and her lips washed out. Her dark hair is tucked up out of the way, but loose strands are still falling around her face. She's wearing a red shirt. The thought immediately strikes him as weird, but it's a relief. It doesn't match the image in his head.

A book is balanced on her lap. She's scribbling inside of it, on top of previous words. Beyond her Thor can see the pale skin of one of Loki's hands. Loki.

Alive.

Here.

Thor attempts to jerk up, force himself into a seated position so he can properly determine Loki's state. Any damage that was done is his fault. He hadn't meant to keep slipping up, but it was much harder than he cares to admit.

Hela jerks, grabbing his shoulders and shoving him back down before he can make much progress. "Don't."

His chest heaves with panic. He squirms from her grip, but he knows it's more because she let him go than any prowess on his part.

Hela's eyes close briefly for a moment, as if trying to gather herself, "Darling," she starts calmly, "the last thing you need to do is make things worse for yourself. You've tread a very thin line between this world and Valhalla the last few days."

Thor shoves back a little, propping himself up on his elbows. "But I-" his throat is dry. His voice cracks and dies before he can finish. Hela sighs before closing the book and setting it to the side. She helps him sit up, leaning against the wall behind him, before offering him a glass of water.

He freezes.

You must be thirsty. You've been asleep for a long time, brother.

He can't...he can't...his hands are trembling and he clenches them, biting down on his gums sharply. Hela picks up on his agitation almost immediately, something in her gaze flicking with anger. Maybe anger. He doesn't know. He's never been very good at reading people and she seems so...dead.

"Watch." Hela instructs flatly and lifts the glass to her lips and takes a sip of it. She doesn't spit it back up. Her body, always so carefully to keep anything dangerous from spilling down her throat, doesn't reject it.

It's clean.

But still.

He swallows, and his throat aches. He can't just pass it up. He needs it. Dehydration will be the death of him if he's not careful. Thor wars with himself for a long moment before asking, softly, "Can you..can you set it down?"

Hela's expression furrows before smoothing and she sets the glass down in front of him. When her fingers have released it completely, Thor takes the glass and drains it. He feels like a man wandering far too long amid Muspelheim without a drop of water. Having been in that particular stretch recently, experience speaks cleanly for him.

"Does anywhere hurt?" his sister asks. Thor does an internal search and when it comes back as no, concludes he must be heavily drugged. That would explain why he can't feel his toes and the strange giddy laughter that threatens to bubble out.

He shakes his head and sets the glass down. "What happened?" his voice is still croaky, but at least it doesn't crack.

Hela's lips thin. "You don't remember?" It doesn't really feel like a question, but he gives another shake of his head. Hela left hand rubs at her temples for a moment. "You and Loki went to conduct a trade with the leader of the Asatjains."

The white pillars.

"You didn't come back." Hela continues. "When we realized that, Brunnhilde conducted a search as I went to confront the king. He was...less than helpful. All he wanted to know was whether or not I was aware that an Infinity Stone was within my grasp."

Again with that stupid Stone? "But we don't have the Tesseract." Thor mumbles in annoyed protest. "We've never had the Tesseract."

Hela shakes her head a little. "I know. I told him as much. He said that you, Loki and himself had come to an agreement of assistance. He was going to let you look take a vessel if he could keep the Statesmen. This, we later discovered, was an attempt to throw us off your scent. You never left the palace. I suspect you were abducted there."

Abducted. It sounds...stupid. Not enough to encompass everything that happened.

"The king was a sedir wielder, but one really only capable of a few basic spells. When searching memories, he could only see interactions between yourself and others you spoke with. Only when you spoke to them. He was convinced that you and Loki had hidden the Tesseract without saying a word to each other because you'd been "touched by it"."

"He said as much." Thor admits.

"Despite his and a handful of others attempts to drop off the face of the realm, we found them. And you. And Loki." Hela stops, her voice clipped. There's plenty she's not saying, and Thor isn't sure whether or not to push. She didn't mention why Heimdall couldn't be of help, or how they found them. Or what her role was beyond talking with the king that first time.

"And the king? Where is he?" Thor questions.

Hela's expression goes hard. "Make a guess."

Dead. Mutliated. Buried alive.

Thor bites on his tongue, deciding that maybe he doesn't want to know.

* * *

Alternate Ending: 

Panic.

She moves for him, but doesn't catch him before he crumples. She grasps him up, rolling him over. She doesn't think she's breathing. "Loki," she repeats, gathering him. He releases a sharp gasp, grabbing at her. He shudders, blood pooling from his lips.

"Loki!" She repeats. "No, no, no!"

"Hela," his voice is a gasp. He exhales sharply, his eyes wide. His hands are clasped over the wound, but it doesn't help. There's so much blood. She joins him in an useless effort to stop the blood from pooling out. "Please…I-"

"Shut up!" She shouts. She focuses on the blood. The wound. It's killing her brother.

Loki shudders again, his breath escaping sharply.

There's so much red. She's never been disgusted by the color before. She wants to scream at it.

Loki lurches up and wraps his arms around her shoulders. He gasps sharply and she catches him before he can fall. Her hands, covered with his blood, smear it down his back and neck. She tries to shove him back down. "Loki! Stop! Let me-"

"Don't," his voice is filled with pain. "Don't."

"Stop it!" She pulls on his shoulders, "I'm not going to let you die-!"

"Don't let me go." Loki gasps, biting back pained noise. "Please. I'm...I'm afraid. I'm afraid."

She stills. Her hands stop their frantic movements and she bites back a sudden burning in her eyes. Not Loki. Not after Thor. Not now. No, no, no-

Loki gasps and falls against her, unable to keep up the facade of strength any longer. She grips him, letting his head rest against her shoulder. He's gripping her tightly, as if afraid of her dropping him. A soft sob escapes his throat and Hela feels herself break.

She flinches back from the tears as they fall from her face. She's wept too much today.

"You aren't allowed to die." She whispers. "You can't leave me alone."

"I'm sorry." His voice is just as quiet. He curls in on himself, hissing. "I don't want to die...Not anymore. You and Thor...gave me something to live for. It hurts. I can't breathe."

She bites on her lip. If she speaks, she thinks she'll scream. Or sob.

How could I have lost everything?

"Sister?" Loki's voice is quieter. Hela forces her tongue to move.

"Yes?" The word sounds broken.

"I want you to know that I…" his voice goes soft. "That I…I..." His breath trails and then stops all together. He shudders against her once and then doesn't move. Hela panics, she drops him, cradling his head and touching at his face.

"Loki?" she whispers. "Loki…please, look at me," her voice breaks and her vision blurs. She touches at his pale, bloody face again. "Can you hear me? Brother?"

He's dead.

She needs to stop pretending otherwise.

Hela slowly closes his eyes and cradles her broken brother.

* * *

When she had awoken on the Statesmen, the last thing she'd thought she'd be doing was holding hands. And yet, here she is. Gripping onto the young and old alike, feeling the bacteria flowing through their veins and stealing its life with her corrupted one. She is, in every sense of the word, death.

And no one is screaming at her to stop.

Yelling at how she's a monster.

Pleading for mercy.

It's...strange. Not unwelcomed, perhaps, but an oddity nonetheless. She doesn't believe she's been on this end of gratitude and weeping tears ever. No one has seen a point to offer thanks for what she's done, not that she can exactly blame them. She's a little too corrupted to warrant anything else but disgust and a fearful respect. It's all Odin had ever wanted from her. It's all she knows how to get.

Hela's slowly working the infected bacteria from a young man's bloodstream when the lights flicker before they die. The healing room isn't completely dark, despite the lack of power given to the lights. The healers, ever picky with the flickering bulbs, have long since set up floating witch lights. It offers enough to cast away the thickest shadows, but not much more.

(She hates the smell of this room.)

The noise the ship is making sounds like groaning. Creaking. Before she can manage to get up to her feet from where she was kneeling down next to a young man, the Statesmen rocks heavily. Hela grits her teeth together, thrusting her weight into her opposing leg to keep herself from toppling to the floor completely. She has to throw her arms out to keep her balance and sees several of the Aesir topple from where they'd been trying get up.

The rocking stops. Hela briefly entertains the idea that they've been hit by some sort of stray asteroid, but discards it just as quickly. It was more likely a ship docking.

* * *

POV Shift/Scene Change:

Loki can't breathe. He keeps strangling for air, hands lifting up to his throat and ghost-like fingers trail there, laughing at his confusion. There's nothing constricting his throat, nothing but his panic. Loki tries to quiet his frantic panting, pressing his left hand's fingers over his mouth and biting hard on his pointer to distract himself.

Breathe.

It feels impossible. He doesn't know how anyone does this with practiced ease. He doesn't know how anyone does it.

He inhales through the small space between his fingers before attempting to hold the thin breath and exhales. This is supposed to be easy. Loki muffles a panicked noise and shoves up into a seated position. The darkened world swirls, but focuses after a moment.

Out. In. Out.

He lowers his right hand and feels the familiar rough fabric of the Grandmaster's couch. The Statesmen. He's not...not there. There is nothing here but the ghosts in his head. Breath isn't getting any easier, he needs light.

Loki untangles himself from the thin blanket and nearly stumbles onto his hands and knees in his frantic need to get off the couch. His bare feet hit the cold floor, the ridges of the metal now long familiar to him. It isn't nearly as quiet as he was hoping for and he winces, glancing first towards Thor. His brother doesn't move. His breath rises and falls rhythmically from his position on his back, face relaxed and arm thrown over his stomach.

Beyond him is their sister, but Hela looks just as dead to the world. She's curled on her side, her back facing him. The darkness should be blinding without any windows, but Loki's eyes have adjusted. Because he's Jotun, and they need to see in the dark because their realm is bathed in so many shadows.

He squeezes his eyes shut and thanks the Norns that his stumbling went unnoticed.

Loki gets to his feet silently and staggers towards the washroom with as little sound as he can. He shuts the door behind him before flicking on the light and letting a slight wheeze of panic slip out. He's barely made a few steps into the room before he collapses to his knees in front of the toilet and vomits. It tastes acidic, and burns as it passes up his nasal cavity.

The noise is quiet, but it feels so loud compared to everything else.

The Statesmen is humming, but it's still so quiet.

His head is screaming. That might be why it feels so quiet. Loki exhales stiffly swallows down a few dry heaves, rising to his feet unsteadily and lifts his shaking hands to grip around the fosit. The metal feels warm beneath his skin.

Breathe.

It was a dream. It was nothing more than a dream and is not ever going to be anything beyond a dream again. He's not going back. He has the Tesseract. He finished his task. He can hand it over to the Titan and be done with this whole mess. Yes, he failed, yes he lost the Mind Stone, but in the long run of things, wasn't the Cube the whole point of that disaster?

His body twitches and a sound escapes between his lips. It's over. It's over. Stop going back.

Loki lifts his hands up to his temples and digs them into the edges of his hairline, trying to cover the ghost feeling of Ebony's long fingers with the sensation of his own. He's going mad. No, he is mad. He was doing better. The Odin facade had been good. He'd...he'd sometimes manage to go as far as six nights without this happening.

It used to be every time he closed his eyes.

At least he can blink without seeing the blood behind his eyelids.

It's something, but it feels like nothing.

Loki swears under his breath and grips the porcelain bowl's rim between his hands. Everything is fine. It's fine. He needs to stop running around in his head, he's spent far too much time there as of late.

It's fine, fine, fine.

It's not. It's not fine and it's getting worse. Loki blows out a deep breath and looks up at himself. His eyes are haunted, bloodshot, and grimy gray lines are beginning to form beneath the lids. His hair is mess and Loki subconsciously lifts a hand to swipe it away from his face. His skin is stretched. He looks as though he's been fighting a plague and is losing.

A phantom pain stings down his back between his shoulder blades and Loki jerks, heaving out a breath. "Stop it," he hisses, "stop it." Why doesn't his body seem to get that it's over? He hasn't stepped foot on Sanctuary for almost six years. There is nothing-

Loki slams a fist against the porcelain and hates that it's still shaking. His heart is pounding against his ribcage and he can't shake the Other's voice out of his head. He swears quietly again, and blows out a heavy breath. His sedir is burning at the tips of his fingers, causing an ache to wrap around his wrists.

He thinks he's going to be sick again.

Loki lifts up his hands and wiggles his fingers, trying to conjure something more complicated than the basic spells he's been working with for so many months. A phasing spell. Nothing nearly as difficult as what he used to be capable of, but…

Loki's fingers burn and his stomach churns as he tries to manipulate the matter around the tips of his left hand's fingers. His heart begins to beat faster and his head burns. The familiar clicking sensation isn't coming. He's smashing against the wall of the damage the Master did and he has no idea how to build it up again. He needs…

Loki's hand touches the glass. Nothing happens. His fingers don't slide through like intended. They touch the mirror and remain there. He exhales frustrated air through his nose sharply. This can't still be happening. Thor is beginning to notice. It's almost laughable. There was a time he would have begged for his brother to do something, but now he finds himself sick at the thought.

He's useless.

Without sedir and his mind so far afield he's...nothing.

Loki runs his fingers through his dark hair before hesitantly parting it on his left side to reveal the burn scar. The memory of the hard pressure of the Mind Stone against his head makes him bite at his tongue harder. That took everything. His sedir, his mind, his trust, his family. Everything.

The Master must have known that it would-

"That looks recent."

Loki jumps, dropping the hair and whirling to look towards the doorway as a half strangled expletive slips between his lips. Hela stands in the open doorway for a moment more, clearly warring with herself before she sighs and takes the needed steps into the room.

The door closes behind her automatically.

Irrational panic skitters across his skin. "What are you-" his words fail and he has to work to get something else out. "Is Thor-?"

"No." Hela interrupts before he can finish. "No, he's still asleep."

Loki exhales with relief and digs his fingers into his scalp, trying not to pull at his hair. It was a habit of his youth and his mother had hated it when he'd do so. She kept saying that he'd make himself bald by all the tugging he was doing.

He doesn't want to deal with his brother. Thor will blow things far out of proportion. Or start asking questions. Loki can't handle that conversation right now. Perhaps ever. It would be better to lay it to rest and not pick it up again.

Loki doesn't look at her, "Why are you in here?"

"I don't sleep heavily. I heard you get up. I didn't think much of it until the vomiting." His sister says flatly. With a tone almost imperceptibly softer, she asks, "Is another plague passing through you unfortunate lot?"

"No." Loki answers heatedly. He digs his teeth into the edge of his tongue and tastes blood. He grips at his scalp harder. The phantom fingers are everywhere now. He can feel the stinging blades of the Other's knife when he began to cut down Loki's spine and then-

No.

He's not going to think about that.

As if there's much of a choice.

Hela takes a step forward. She, like him, is barefoot and the sight suddenly strikes him as beyond strange. Her toenails are blackened and blood vessels seem to pop from under her skin. Loki tugs his gaze away and tries his best not to stiffen. He fails.

"What is going on, then?" Hela asks quietly. Loki realizes that she's been keeping her tone softer as to not alert their brother to their midnight escapade. "You're panicking."

"I am not." Loki shoots down quickly. "There's nothing wrong. Stop trying to stuff your nose where it isn't wanted. I'm fine."

He hears her lips part to make a retort, but whatever it is he doesn't know. He attempts to shove past her and exit the room, intending to find somewhere else to sulk and pretend he's not...whatever this is, but he barely makes it a step before his feet give out and he begins to crumple. The heighted exhaustion from his sedir maintaining everything must have reached its end when he attempted the mirror.

Marvelous.

Because the first thing he wanted to do was faint in front of Hela.

He braces himself to hit the floor, trying to get his hands to move out and catch him, but he doesn't need to. Hela's hands grab at his shoulders and a moment later she's lowering him to the ground. Loki's little wheezes are back, barely passing for much more than the sounds of a dying animal.

"Brother," Hela says.

"Stop touching me!" Loki shoves her hands away and scrambles back from her, air exploding from his lungs.

"Loki," Hela's voice is hard. "Loki, stop it."

He knows that he's not thinking clearly, but it doesn't help his mind focus any better. Her words feel muffled. He can't discern a meaning, the only thing he can focus on is the burning in his back. Is he going to die? He always feels like he's wandering with one foot in his grave the last couple of years.

He tugs at his hair harder, and a hand grips at his wrist.

He flinches, free arm going for a weapon, but this one is clamped down on by a hand as well. Something physically rattles him and his head thwaks against the wall a moment later. His vision fuzzes and bent up remains of his sedir surge through his veins fast enough that it aches. Something shatters and the hands release him.

Loki gasps, scrambling onto his hands and knees and barely registers the feeling of glass beneath his palms. Glass? Why is there glass? There isn't any glass in this room. He shakes the thoughts off and gives up on moving when his limbs won't take him anywhere. Loki instead watches as blood slowly pools down his fingers.

"What are you doing!?"

Loki jerks at the noise, turning his head towards the doorway and spots Thor moving into the room a moment later. The shatters bits of glass are everywhere and it takes him a moment to realize it was the mirror. Hela is several feet from him, covered in the glimmering glass. She's slowly shoving up from her elbows, but her discomfort is obvious.

Thor looks between the two of them, clearly attempting to figure out what happened. Loki can't get his words to work.

Hela breathes out quietly and manages to make it up a little further before she makes a soft noise of discomfort and nearly collapses back onto her elbows. Thor immediately moves to her side, grabbing her upper arm and helping her up.

The majority of the broken mirror appears to have struck her from behind.

Loki squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, exhaling softly. He'd wanted her to let him go, so his sedir had reacted. It had pulled the mirror down on her. This is getting out of hand. He hasn't had such accidental spelling since he was a child. How can it only be getting worse? He's been free for six years.

Loki wishes suddenly and desperately to be able to discuss this with Frigga. He surpassed her close to three and a half centuries ago, but the reason that nothing seems to be getting better is something she would know or be able to determine.

"Oh, Norns," Thor breathes quietly and Loki looks up again. Thor is looking at their sister's back and his eye is wide. Hela's expression is emotionless, but her gaze is lingering on him. "We…" Thor's words falter for a moment. "Here, sit," he says and almost drags her towards the edge of the tub. They pass him, but neither pay him mind.

Hela perches on the edge of the tub, her back facing them.

Loki grimaces. Large and small shards of the glass are sticking from her shirt, obviously digging through skin. It's made a mess of her hair and Loki can see blood beginning to stain the shirt. "I'm sorry," he chokes, finding his voice at last. "I hadn't...I'm sorry."

"Am I dead?" Hela asks. For all the pain she must be in, her voice is almost perfectly even.

The question throws him. "What?"

"No." She answers. "I'm to blame for this. I acted rashly. Don't…" she inhales and then finishes, "apologize."

"What happened?" Thor demands, moving towards the sink and tearing open one of the drawers. He ruffles through the various toiletries and a few random gadgets Loki doesn't know the purpose for. Thor pulls out a roll of gauze-when did someone move that in here?-and something that can pass for tweezers. "Please tell me this wasn't another murder attempt."

"No." Hela answers. "No. I was trying to help."

And Loki dropped a mirror on her.

He's such a nice person like that.

Thor, awkwardly balancing on his toes to avoid as much of the glass as possible, moves back to the tub. Loki still hasn't got off the floor. His hands are bleeding and they're stinging with pain, but in contrast to what Hela's back looks like, it's nothing.

"Help what?" Thor presses. "How did this even happen? You-"

"I panicked." Loki finally admits through gritted teeth. "I pulled the mirror down on her. It wasn't purposeful. Not really."

Thor looks at him, expression slightly puzzled. He opens his mouth to ask another question and then decides better of it. Scrambling to his shaky feet, Loki forces out a calming breath. He moves towards Thor's side to assess the damage he did.

The wounds look no better up close.

"We need to stanch the bleeding," Thor says and shoves the tweezers towards him. "Here. You start taking pieces out. I'll try and wash off what I can."

Loki rubs his palms against his pants to rid them of glass and then lifts a mercifully steady hand towards the patchwork of mirror. He's slowly pulling out the largest piece when Hela winces. He sees her fingers tighten around her knees as her posture, already impeccable, loses the remaining slouch.

"Sorry." Loki says again. Why couldn't he have controlled the outburst? How is it that he can't phase by choice, but instead used perfect telekinesis, which is more advanced on accident? If he had just…

Thor doesn't ask any more questions, oddly enough. He and his brother work side by side for close to ten minutes as Thor brushes off the mirror flecks and Loki pulls out the shards. Thor eventually rests a hand on Hela's shoulder and their sister tilts her head up in question.

Thor's face is slightly hot, and Loki looks up at him, puzzled.

"We...you…" he clears his throat. "We aren't going to get everything with your shirt in the way. I know you may not be comfortable with this, but-"

"It's stuck to my skin." Hela interrupts flatly. "You're going to have to cut it."

Loki bites on his inner cheek, blowing out a breath and reminds himself that this is their sister and patient. It's not as awkward as it could be. Loki pulls a dagger off of the upper layer of his forearm guard and, though Thor still looks hesitant, Loki begins to cut down the length of the black fabric. As her bare skin is revealed, the first thing Loki notices is how much it's drenched in blood.

There's considerably less glass than when they started, but Loki can still see glimmers of it against her chalk white skin. The edges of her ribs are showing, and if she were to lean forward a bit, Loki knows he would be able to count the vertebrae of her spine. It's sickening, and a part of him wants to whirl her around and demand the reason for her state, but he doesn't. He already knows.

Helheim is the land of the dead. It has been since Asgard began to play with the Bifrost and tested it on the barren world. There is scarcely anything living there. Aesir can survive centuries without food unless their blood is laced with sedir, but that doesn't mean they can't feel hunger. They are still alive. Hela was slowly starving to death. Judging by the state of this, her health has really only improved since she stepped aboard the Statesmen.

When food was readily available.

Their father really sentenced her to the slow and painful death of lacking resources?

Thor sucks in a sharp breath and swears under his breath. Hela tenses beneath the weight of their combined stares and judging by how clenched her muscles are, she's just as vastly uncomfortable with this as they are. The two of them share a look before they begin to work again. Thor asks, softly, if Loki can just remove the rest of the glass with his sedir so they can clean it faster.

Loki presses his lips together and says, "no."

He doesn't want to risk it. With how much he's been lacking control, he doesn't know if he'd accidentally tug out something vital as well. What if he grabs an organ and hauls it out through her back?

They work slowly. The time seems to drag backwards and Loki does his best to work patiently and painlessly, but the shards are beginning to blur in his vision, and he keeps jabbing at her back. Thor has to wait for Loki to clear an area before he takes a clean rag and wipes it down first with water and then antiseptic.

As Thor cleans off the skin, Loki becomes aware that Hela's back is covered with injection marks. Some of the cells around the area are a black-blue that he doubts are from bruising. Some of the wounds look so old they must be from when she was a child. The sight is puzzling. There's a few battle wounds, stabs mostly, and maybe a barbed arrow on her shoulder, but for her age and history she's remarkably untouched.

But the injections?

They can't have been self imposed. Most are in an area impossible to reach unless she could break an elbow at will.

Thor, at last, breaks the heavy silence. "Why do you have so many needle scars?"

Loki stills. He looks towards his brother and mentally slaps him over the head. That was subtle. Hela exhales sharply and Loki can see her muscles tense. The question appears to have slipped out, because Thor appends, "I'm sorry. That was out of line, I just...there's so many and that can't be normal."

"Darling, it's not." Hela's voice is hot. "Trust me, it's not."

"Then where…?"

Vague pieces seem to slip into place all at once and Loki's eyes widen. He nearly drops one of the final pieces of the mirror with surprise. He can barely keep his tone even, "You weren't born like this. Able to command death, summon weapons, nearly indestructible."

Flicking glass from her hair as if bored, when Loki knows she isn't, Hela gives a slow shake of her head. "No."

"So they…" Thor's mind is obviously whirring, "you were...modified? You chose this?"

"I did not-" Hela starts sharply, and then exhales raggedly. "I would never have chosen this." They say nothing. Loki doesn't even know where to begin with his questions. The needles. The metal in her arm...if she didn't choose this, than what did? At their silence, their sister releases a deep, heavy sigh.

"My mother was murdered in the streets when I was a child. It wasn't an assasination. It was a slaughter. I survived the encounter with our enemies by sheer chance alone. Fate, unfortunately, must have willed it so. Odin arrived days later," she releases a mirthless huff, shaking her head, "and was none too happy to find the massacre. He had already begun his conquest to unite the surrounding cosmos under a single empire, and his wife's death was the consequence of that."

Loki realizes, after a moment, that there is no record of Frigga being Odin's second wife. He had had no idea that he had been married to another woman, but it makes sense. Why would their mother have ever allowed Hela to be banished? She fought religiously against their father for Thor's, and his brother's was only three days.

Not centuries.

Beyond that, Hela looks nothing like Frigga. She and Thor share similar noses, but that's only because it's Odin's nose, not Frigga's.

"He must have realized, then, that his goal was going to fail ultimately unless he had advanced weaponry. Sedir was already being used in battle, but...it wasn't enough. Nothing was enough. Odin concluded that the reason I survived was because the Norns had gifted him with an opportunity to find the power source he desired. He turned me over to the PEOPLE and told them to make me. I was to be the living weapon of Asgard, no matter the cost. I was Asgard's guardian, protector, and Odin's right hand.

"So no, I didn't choose this. I didn't ask for it. I was pulled apart and stitched back together again and again until I could withstand their blows. Until when they slipped a knife between my ribs I was already nearly healed by the time they ripped it out. Until my senses for pain were almost destroyed and I could successfully create and fire weapons from my body. Until-" her voice breaks and she exhales sharply. "Until I became a monster. And then all dear old Dad had to do was just point me in the right direction and watch the rampage. That's what the scars are from. Curiosity quenched?"

Loki's breath feels constricted in his chest. He remembers sitting on Odin's right in Norway, watching his father's aged face calmly announce the existence of their sister. How he had seemed so certain of their destruction by her hand that he had crafted the end of their realm to kill her. But Hela has done scary little he saved her to warrant such precautions.

Her attempted murder on him was out of desperation. The court may insist that Odin had his reasons for leaving her to rot, but Loki doesn't...the only record they have of what happened is Brunnhilde, and she wasn't even the captial when Hela went on her murder spree through the palace. They know of her actions, not her psyche. They hardly know Hela, not the goddess of death, but Hela.

Odin hardly knew her because he raised a weapon, not a daughter.

* * *

Deleted Scene:

"-But she's a big friendly puppy. You have to let me at least touch her!" he begs desperately, scrambling up to his feet and grabbing at her leg to look up at her pleadingly. She sighs and looks down at him from half lidded, shaded eyes.

"She's a wild animal. Not a pet." She says flatly.

He makes a noise. "She's your friend."

She makes an irritated sound and flicks up the book, muttering a word that would make Amma clean her mouth out real good if she was present. "Do you want me to finish this Norns cursed thing?"

He smiles, nodding. "Please! I gotist...gotta...gots…um."

"Got?"

He nods. "Got un-focused. The big monster reminded me of Fenris." He scrambles up onto her lap and settles himself there, ignoring her obvious distaste and furious protests. He knows she's not really cross with him because the edge of her lip is quirking.

She sighs dramatically and adjusts her hold on their tiny sleeping brother, making sure he's not going to topple out of her arms before she begins the story again. She's only made it a scarce few sentences before the door is thrown open and Abee shoves his way into the space.

"Daughter!" he shouts.

She stiffens, hands tight around the storybook. He buries his head into her chest, trying to hide. Her arm suddenly comes to touch at his back-it feels funny, because she never touches him-and the book lowers.

"My king." She says stiffly. "Has Frigga not returned from Alfheim yet?"

"No." Abee snarls, storming up to them and pointing his staff out. He stifles a cry, burying himself deeper against her. She is safe. Her hand is digging into his back now. "You said you would not speak to the prisoners. You gave your word, and yet, I was told by the Einherjar that you've seen to them twice. We did not drag them back from Midgard so you would shower them in flowers."

"Flowers? Oh, my king, I don't think you-"

"Until Frigga returns, there will be no more communication. You have made enough messes as it is!" Abee says angrily.

She hisses through her teeth. "You-"

"What is this?" The book is torn from her hands abruptly and Abee looks it over with a critical eye. She makes a small noise, but doesn't grab for it with her arms occupied. Abee huffs, flipping it over to read the cover. "Don't you think he's a little old to be hearing such tales?"

"I don't." She replies smoothly.

"This is for children."

"He is a child."

"He will never be a proper warrior if you put these foolish stories in his head." Abee argues. She's on her feet suddenly, putting him on the ground with a gentleness that assures him he's not forgotten.

"A warrior? You swore Jotunhiem was the last one. With the kidnapping of the heir I'd assumed you'd have-" a gasp and then a strangled noise. He looks up, clutching her leg tighter, trying to hide.

Abee has her free hand's forearm clutched in a death grip, digging his hands into the ouches she's had ever since Abee took her away for a little while before the battle. The scars are bad. Abee said she got into a bit of a brawl. He doesn't want to know who she fought. She's indestructible.

"Silence! Don't forget who made you, monster." Abee snarls, twisting the grip. Her breath hitches as their brother droops slightly, as if she's going to drop him.

"You would be nothing if I hadn't done what had to be. We have no idea the threats of the future. He will be even stronger than I."

She smooths her expression. Hesitates and then, "Not much of an achievement, is it?"

Abee growls and he makes a squeak, rushing to clutch at his leg. "Abee, please don't be cross with her." He pleads. "No more of the hurts."

"Back away, this doesn't concern you, boy."

"Let my arm-"

Fingers snap infront of his face and Thor jerks, taking half a step back with surprise. His head feels fuzzy, thoughts distorted and unconnecting. He blinks several times, trying to ground himself from the memories. He hadn't even been thinking about them. They just slunk into his head at an inopportune moment and settled there, insisting they watch.

"Sir?" a thick accent asks.

* * *

Deleted Scene: 

"How hard is it to pick fruit? You take it and leave. It's simple. Does he have to sit there and run his fingers over every ridge? What is he even looking for?" Hela's fustration is obvious and Loki casts a side-eyed glance towards her. The longer Thor has dallyed in the market the further her agitation has grown, but he knows it has very little to do with the fruit.

After centuries in Helheim, with no one to keep her company but herself, Hela's comfort in crowds has slipped. Part of him wonders if she, like him, has never felt at ease inside of them in the first place. His father had always been so insistent on making a public appearance when they were young, never mind how Loki's stomach would roll for hours afterwards as he tried not to panic.

Hela's posture is tight and defensive, eyes roving across the crowd as if she expects someone to draw their weapon and leap towards them with the intent to kill. Loki has seen a few people eye them, but not with the intent of murder.

"Is he dead?" Hela asks, looking over at him. "He must be dead."

Loki lifts his gaze towards where their brother is standing in front of a marketman, still holding the same fruit he's been thinking over for at least three minutes straight. He looks a little disoriented, but not dead. He toys with the idea that the plant may have some paralysis, but dismisses the idea just as quickly.

"No. He's just being stubborn." Loki assures.

"I'm going to walk over there and drag him back," Hela mutters.

"You'll only make him stay longer to spite you." He promises. Hela's face falls the slightest at that, but she doesn't argue. She's apparently picked up enough of Thor's character the last month they've been stuck together to see that in action. For all that Thor claims to have changed, Loki has his doubts that the stubbornness will ever change.

Hela sighs heavily, anxiously drumming her fingers. Loki sweeps his gaze across the market, looking for familiar faces and only finding a few before Hela perks, "He's coming back." She says loudly. "Norns, at long last."

Loki lifts his gaze towards the direction his brother was and sees him making his way towards them. Thor's walking with an almost dazed look about him, staggering and looking almost drunk. Loki's eyes narrow with suspicion the closer his brother draws, privately wondering if Thor would have had the audacity to intoxicate himself now.

When he's close enough, Hela takes a step forward. "Finally!" she calls, shifting her hands to her hips. "Do you intend to starve us all by spending a ludicrous amount of time looking over all the food?"

"I remember your voice." Thor states flatly, not even bothering to reply. The comment strikes Loki as odd almost immediately and he squints in confusion towards their brother. He doesn't smell. Not in the way alcohol would taint his breath and person, but all the same…

Hela's expression freezes slightly. "What? We've been stuck in the same stupid ship for nearly a month, I should hope that you-"

"Not from that." Thor argues, eyes locked on her. "Before. Before Ragnarok even happened. I remember you from when I was a child. You were reading to me, I-I don't know what it was about, but you…"

Hela blinks. For a moment he thinks she's going to confirm him, but she laughs. "Can you honestly see-reading to you? Am I that sentimental?"

"Well, no, but you-"

"He's drunk." Hela states flatly. "We leave him alone for two minutes and he goes and gets himself fired up. Wonderful."

"I'm not-!"

#

"Ah-sir?" the voice snaps Thor back into reality. He blinks, the world slipping into focus and looks down at his hand when he realizes he's holding something. The weight is not uncomfortable in his hand, but he wonders how long he's been standing here. One moment he had been ordering the food and the next his mind had slipped off.

It's been happening more often the last week.

He can't seem to stay within reality, instead tetering between memories that can't be his and normal. He doesn't know what's happening. It's like he can't remain here.

"Do you want to buy it or not?" the same voice asks, tone thick with annoyance. Thor looks down at the purple fruit and then up at the bearded man. Down again, up once more. He gives a slow nod, trying his best not to show how frazzled he feels.

"Yes. Sorry," he says, "I'll take as much as you can get me." He lifts up a heavy bag of coins for ELEPHANT and the man's eyes bulge slightly. As he begins to gather the requested items together, Thor sweeps his gaze across the market, hand resting on his sword. The bustling area is a backwater world, barely habitable by chance. It seems to make a majority of its income from trade, because the entire world seems to be burdened with buildings and shops.

They'd stopped here to gather more supplies, their storage from Fire Sweets beginning to run low. This time, Thor had put someone else in charge of the water. Brunnhilde is paranoid and brisk. She won't let anything but water into the Statesmen; she'll do better than he did in that aspect. At least, with her taking charge, he doesn't have to worry about poisoning everyone again.

The last thing they need is another plague to rage among them. The first one did enough damage as it is.

#"I remember your voice." Thor's voice is strangely toneless as he says the words, as if careless when Loki knows it's anything but. His face is pinched in such a way that whatever is on his mind must be bothering him, even if the phrasing is strange.

Loki stops from where he was helping sort through the supplies they bought, trying to organize it more to look back at his sibling. Hela, beside him, but ever unhelpful, looks up from where she's sitting against a crate. She's been in the position for the better part of ten minutes now, leaving Loki to his work and only offering a snappy comment every now and then.

She's been on edge ever since they stepped foot on the world for supplies, and he doesn't know if he can blame her. Helheim, he suspects, was not bursting with intelligent life she could practice her social skills with. Not that she has any.

The bustling area is a backwater world, barely habitable by chance. It seems to make a majority of its income from trade, because the entire world seems to be burdened with buildings and shops.

They'd stopped here to gather more supplies, their storage from Fire Sweets beginning to run low. This time Thor had put someone else in charge of the water, and he was to look for food with Heimdall. Brunnhilde is paranoid and brisk. She won't let anything but water into the Statesmen. Loki was left with the task of babysitting.

Hela glances towards him as if waiting for a response, but Loki is clueless as to what to say to Thor's comment. After a moment, their sister sighs heavily, "I should hope so. We've been stuck in this dingy ship together for more than a month now."

Thor shakes his head, stiff and uncomfortable. He's seemed a little dazed the last week, but only occasionally. Like he kept slipping into his head and struggled to crawl his way out. Loki can sympathize with that.

"No. Not...not from recently. Before Ragnarok. I remember you." Thor says, turning to Hela. Loki squints, trying to determine where this is coming from. Thor slept last night, if fretfully. He's not drunk, and Loki doesn't think anyone would be foolish enough to dry and drug him.

Hela's jaw tightens. "You're drunk." She states flatly. "How could you remember me? I'd have to share those memories, too, wouldn't I?"

"No." Thor sounds insistent. "You were there. When I was a child. You read to me. I don't know what it was...but you...and then Father came in and said that what you were reading was for children, and I'd never be a proper warrior if you softened me. I can't remember anything distinct, but-"

"Thor?" Loki questions, off-put. He sets the fruit he's holding down into the crate and turns to give his brother his full attention. "Thor are you alright?"

Thor doesn't look at him. "I'm serious."

Hela sighs, shoving up to her full height. "Norns, we leave you alone for two minutes and you go and get yourself intoxicated. Wonderful."

"I am not drunk!"

Hela rolls her eyes. "Hallucinating, then? Darling, can you honestly see me being so sentimental? I've wanted you dead the moment you were conceived as a thought in your parents heads."

* * *

Deleted Scene: 

Banner comes to a stop in front of her, eyes narrowed and expression thin. He's attempting to be intimidating, but it's clear he has no idea what to do with his hands because he keeps fidgeting with the ends of his sleeve. Fold up over the fingers, release. Fold up over the fingers, release. On and on he goes.

Hela looks up from the ration she's been picking through to him, doing her best to keep her irritation off her face. Realizing she doesn't need to, she glowers anyway. Banner looks marginally less confident than he did a second ago, and the observation amuses her.

"What?"

She's climbed up into one of the small window seals in the communal room, squishing herself up against the glass, but balancing without a problem. She's always found comfort in heights, stupid as it is. Balancing on said heights, no matter how small the ledge or angle, has been a skill she's never needed to work at. It has always just been.

Banner clears his throat, folding his arms across his chest. "Where are Thor and Loki?"

She picks open the wrapper of the ration, looking down to the dried fruit. "Mm. Don't know. Dead, I hope." The words fall off her tongue before she can really think on them, but she doesn't attempt to append further or correct herself. She imagines they're still in the room, but she doesn't know for certain. They're not here, and she doesn't know where else they would be.

It is an oddity that Thor hasn't made an appearance yet. After tracking their habits for fifteen weeks, she's grown accustomed to the fact that the only thing that will keep Thor from attempting to perform his duty is a literal deathbed. Loki will fluctuate, sometimes spending as many as three days avoiding the general populous before returning to help Eir or Thor.

Banner's eyes narrow further. Rather than accuse her of murdering them like she half expects, when his lips part the only thing that comes out is, "Are they okay? Did something happen?"

Hela's fingers clench around the small, silver package. Delving out what happened in the washroom is something she doesn't want to share with anyone, let alone Banner. The man can barely keep eye-contact with her, let alone hold a conversation. Besides that, she doesn't even know where to start, and it seems oddly...invasive, to explain without Loki's explicit permission.

She tilts forward, propping her head on her hand. "And if it did, what would you do?"

Banner's fingers are digging into the cloth of his shirt now. His discomfort is obvious. "Are they hurt?" His tone, remarkably, is steady. "I'm a doctor; I can help. If...if it's something medical. Or we can ask Eir. The day is nearly over and they still haven't-"

"You have been keeping secrets from us." The harsh, grating voice snaps over Banner's and Hela flicks her gaze up to the ceiling in annoyance as she recognizes it. She'd come here to hide, not have everyone flock to her.

Lord Vili, one of the only members on the council beyond Heimdall that she recognizes, is followed by the rest of the curia regis, Brunnhilde inside. The Valkyrie's expression is smug. Banner looks startled at their sudden appearance, nearly leaping a foot away from them as his eyes widen.

Hela pulls her feet off the wall, shifting so she's sitting up properly. Lord Vili's expression is nothing short of open fury.

Hela sighs and leans forward, clasping her hands together. "And what, pray tell, is it?"

"I remember you." Vili's expression is almost wistful, but the way he speaks suggests he should have spat the words at her feet.

Hela's insides go cold.

Her hissed words to Skurge, does no one remember me?, suddenly seem far less terrible than they were. A certain type of shield, for people to only know of her sins, not have any data they can offer as written proof.

She tries to steady herself, but her world feels like it's tipped and the contents are being rattled up and down until everything is in chaos. She clenches her fists around the rim of the window and stares the man down. Her memories of him have never been fond. He's always been professional, keeping a wide space between the two of them. This man was always first and foremost a member of Odin's council.

Not her uncle.

"Oh?" Her voice feels weak. It's not as confident as she was hoping for. She wants it to be hard and bite, but it sounds lost.

"Everyone is beginning to remember you." Vili says without prompting, shoulders drawing up in a tight line. They're creeping up towards his shoulders which makes him bigger. "What on the nine did you do to us?"

Hela blinks. Her mouth opens, but she doesn't speak. She didn't do anything. She has no idea what Odin did to wipe her from Asgard's memory (it must have gone beyond that. Alfheim. Vanaheim. Everywhere, but she doesn't want to think about that), but it must have been sedir. A lot of sedir. Getting her into Helheim must have drained him. She didn't go willingly.

What did he do to sustain the spells? Tie it to his lifeline?

But that would have been stupid. He could have died anywhere. A battlefield. Out for a stroll. Assassination. The list is endless and to not come up with a more permanent solution would...but Ragnarok was the permanent solution, wasn't it? Odin's plan for keeping her out of his hair wasn't simply to lock her up and throw away the key. He'd fed entire realms lies of Ragnarok. He'd fed everyone that.

Preparing them to kill her.

Elaborate.

(Did he really hate her that much? Where did she go wrong?)

Banner moves, and it catches her attention. His hand catches the forearm of Brunnhilde; whose shoved her way to the front and is lifting her hand, likely for a blow. Hela bites sharply on her inner cheek, embarrassed.

Her reflexes are supposed to be better than this. She can't get lost in her head. Not now.

"Whoa. Wait." Banner says. "How is this-!?"

"I propose we do a search. An actual search." Lady Pettidottir says, looking at the gathered group, and then the council. "We can no longer let these things hide in the dark. We must know the events that occured to make our beloved late king outcast her. I refuse to let this hang for any longer!"

Asgardians give a rousing shout.

Hela feels her stomach twist. She's not going to talk about this. She'd sooner cut out her own tongue. This isn't their story to know. It's hers and hers alone. They can't know about her mother, the rooms, Jotunheim, and Laufey-

No.

"Someone find Eir!" Lord Arkenson demands. "Tell her to bring her aids. Hela has been charged with criminal presses, and we must gain the truth from her one way or another."

Banner makes something close to a squeaking noise. "What-what are you talking about? Are you going to compel her or something? This is illegal. Please tell me this is illegal." He runs a hand through his hair, fingers ghosting over his nose as if he was going to push something up. "Do you have truth serum or something? How does this even work?"

"Spells can be cast." Lord Arkenson says flippantly. "And if not that, we will search her memories. I have had enough of this smoke and mirrors."

"You can't just-!"

She sees Eir in the distance, being tugged along by several Asgardians and she reacts. She lashes out, grabbing Lord Arkenson by the arm and throwing him into the crowd. He takes down several people, and dozens more Aesir leap back with surprise at her sudden movement.

A noise escapes her, a desperate shrieking sound, and she draws a dagger, opens her mouth and grapples for her tongue. She won't say a word of this. If they intend to compel her to talk, they're going to have a hard time of it.

Yanking, she twists her wrist to get the angle right and prepares to saw at the muscle until it's broken from her throat.

Brunnhilde's hands grab at her forearms, stopping the desperate act from being completed. Hela's limbs feel off balance, but she fights, struggling to get the Valkyrie to release her. Just when she's about to swing her leg up and smash it into the older woman's stomach, Brunnhilde squeezes her right forearm.

The pain receptors alight and a broken, voiceless scream tears it's way from her throat. They damaged them when they inserted the metal. It was a mercy. Without them, she's never felt the weapons sliding in and out of her wrists. Now she feels muscle attempting to coil around dwarven metal looped between her bones.

Her vision goes white around the edges and she pants, inhaling as deeply as she dares. Brunnhilde eases up on the pressure as if surprised, and a quick glance towards her face shows that she is as much. Still, she leans forward and with a voice less smug than Hela was expecting, Brunnhilde whispers, "Where are the princes who have spent so much time rescuing the damsel?"

Hela twists her left hand out of Brunnhilde's grip; with all the strength she can muster, she punches Brunnhilde in the face and is satisfied when she feels bone snap.

* * *

Alternate Scene:

Hela gives a slight shake of her head, looking away from him. She tips her head back and sighs heavily. "Laufey…" she doesn't say anything else for several long moments.

"Laufey…" Thor prompts.

Hela worries her lip between her teeth for a moment. "How much do you know about why the Jotnar went to Midgard?"

Thor pauses. The question seems almost careful, and Thor fears that if he answers wrong she'll clamp up and refuse to discuss anything with him. Slowly, he begins, "Jotunheim was no longer able to support the population...so Laufey attacked Midgard without thinking over the population? He slaughtered thousands before Asgard stepped in. Asgard chased Laufey off of Midgard. Our father pushed them back into Jotunheim and took the Casket."

And their brother, but Thor doesn't add that. It suddenly feels far too raw to swallow.

"I don't know. Our tutors told the tale far differently than our father ever did." Thor admits, wringing his hands. He's watching Hela's face carefully, but it doesn't so much as flicker.

Hela makes a humming noise. "They weren't far from the truth. You didn't mention that there was an anomaly that opened a rift between the worlds that the Jotnar slipped through. The Jotnar-"

"Jotuns." Thor says suddenly. Hela looks at him, eyebrows raised in confusion. "It's Jotuns. Why do you keep saying Jotnar?"

Hela blinks. "It's the proper term. On Jotunheim. It was on Asgard when I was young, too."

"Oh." Thor rubs at the back of his neck. Thus far, despite the rift between the banishment and now, language hasn't been too rocky of a process. He knows that Midgard's evolves faster than they reproduce and it must be a nightmare to keep track of it all. The common tongue on Asgard is much slower. This is just a blimp among it, along with a few other incidents details are fuzzy on now.

Hela clears her throat somewhat and continues, "The Jotnar saw it as a sign from their gods that it was time to move beyond their home world. So they tried. And failed. Those who died didn't matter because they thought the slaughter had to come before they were gifted."

Thor's brow furrows. "But I've never even heard of that-"

"I know because Laufey told me." Hela interrupts. Thor stops, drawing aback slightly. Simple association with the Jotun king makes his stomach roll and he hates himself for it. Hela sighs and rubs at her forehead. "The war lasted for over six years. Only the last few weeks were spent on Jotunheim. Asgard didn't drive the Jotnar off of Midgard until the very end." Hela releases a heavy breath. "And I spent most of the years as a war captive."

Thor's jaw drops. "You what-?"

She pulls her gaze away from him. "Odin was losing the war. I had already refused to participate, and drew my soldiers out. He...was less than pleased. Midgard is the center of the Nine-"

"He who controls it controls a majority of the power of Yggistridal and the easy trade routes." Thor recites, remembering something that his tutor once said. Midgard had always just been Asgard's, Thor had never thought twice about what would happen if they lost it.

Hela nods. "If Asgard was to survive after the war, we needed Midgard. Odin surmised that if he pulled a weapon together he could simply chase the Jotnar off of Midgard. That was me." She bares her teeth in what's probably supposed to be a bitter smile but comes across better as a grimace. "But Odin's enhancements didn't go the way he wanted. It had unwanted side effects, like my new and uncontrollable ability to suck life from anything around me. Including myself. Odin sent me to deal with a small group of the Jotnar. I didn't make it back, awake one moment, nothing the next. Laufey found me. He and his wife nursed me back to health for the better part of six months. I was unresponsive during all of that."

Thor gawks. "For half a year?"

"It's called a coma now, I think." Hela smiles thinly. "Laufey could have left me to die out there. Odin's troops wouldn't have found me in time. He could have killed me in the following four years he held me as a war prisoner. He didn't. Instead he…" she looks away.

Thor swallows, unable to wrap his head around any of this.

It doesn't seem...it doesn't seem possible. Yes, his interactions with Laufey were limited, but he'd heard stories of the king's brutally for as long as he can remember. The Jotun left Loki to die. How could he ever have had the mercy to save his sister?

Hela looks at him. "You're very close with Heimdall."

Thor startles at the sudden change of subject and pauses, his hand stilling in Loki's hair. He swallows and has to process the question a couple of times. "I-um. Yes. He mentored me and Loki when we were younger. Pulled us out of a few scrapes. He was-is-a constant whenever I needed him to be."

"He was everything Odin was not."

Thor winces, looking away from her. The confession feels sinful as it slides off his tongue quietly, "Yes." Odin was the Allfather. He was supposed to be the peak of parenting. The ultimate father. He...wasn't. Thor hated the time constraints Odin slapped onto his life. Thor's life felt like a list of places he needed to be until he reaches his adulthood and had some semblance of freedom. His youth was not nearly as carefree as he likes to pretend it was.

Preparing to be king of a country takes time. Becoming an realm-ruler took far longer. And Asgard plays regency over nine. His entrance into adulthood was spent learning how to breathe and it often meant doing stupid, impuslive things Loki hated.

Odin was never there when Thor needed him to be. Always so expectant. Thor felt like he was drowning in the spotlight, and has wondered furiously since Loki fell how it must have felt to be starving for any light at all. To have never gained Odin's attention unless it was bad attention because Loki could not get Odin's eye to swivel towards him otherwise.

And Heimdall...hadn't. He'd never had Odin's restraints. Odin's carelessness. Odin's...Odin.

Hela leans back again, lifting her hands behind her head. "Laufey became that to me. He saw my enhancements. What Odin had taken to create them. He was disgusted. It...was the first time I realized that it wasn't normal. He promised that if the Jotnar won the war, he would fight for my freedom. I don't think I ever left because of that."

She could have, Thor realizes. He's seen her in action. Saw the slaughtered remains of the fleet of Einherjar.

She didn't leave on purpose. Because Laufey…

Become what Odin wasn't.

A father.

The word doesn't sound right, even in his head. He thinks of Loki's despair over learning his parentage, thinks of his own disgust at learning of Loki's adoption. Thinks of his nursemaids telling stories of the Frost Giants coming to eat them in the night before they slept. Of everything Asgard told him of Frost Giants and he can't...he doesn't understand.

* * *

Alternate Scene: (Warning for implied/referenced self harm) 

MONSTER-MONSTER-MONSTER-

He tears until he bleeds.

He hits until he bruises.

Monster. Monster. Monster.

And then he does it over again. Until he's too exhausted to stand and aches to much to move. Screaming is an impossibility from the start, but he's certain that he'd have howled until his voice broke if he could.

He is-He is a-MONSTER-He is a monster. And he is ashamed.

So he breaks. He bruises. He bleeds. He cracks at first, and then bursts. Shatters like glass in the wind and pretends that he didn't fall apart.

"I'm pretty sure that Hela and Thor are going to kill you. If Eir doesn't beat them to it."

Loki startles at the voice, sluggishly turning in Banner's direction. The Midgardian lingers in the doorway of the storage room that Loki's been stuffed inside for the better part of a few hours. His limbs feel like he's trying to swim through tar. He's exhausted. His body quickly slumps back against the crate and Loki wraps the blanket he stole from the room his shoulders tighter, coughing.

"Or Heimdall. Brunnhilde looked pretty ready to give you a smack-down too. You know that you've been missing for over six hours, right?" Banner continues, taking a step forward. Loki doesn't fight him, doing nothing but watch as the man draws closer. Bruce squats down in front of him, head tipped. His eyes aren't narrowed, but they are pinched at the edges with stress.

Six hours?

Loki hadn't realized it had been so long. He's amazed he lasted this long without anyone finding him. Without his sedir, there is no sure way to guarantee that he'd remain hidden.

Banner sighs. "Can you talk?"

Loki's lips part, but attempting to draw up his voice doesn't work. A hollow croak is all that escapes. After a moment, he shakes his head, face hot. Banner looks down at Loki's arms and makes a slight noise in the back of his throat.

Loki squeezes his eyes shut. He doesn't want to hear Banner exclaim. For him to do anything because the Midgardian will only think him insane. As if he isn't. He likes to pretend that he clung to semblance of sanity over the last few years, but he's been mad for a lot longer than since Thor's coronation.

"Loki." Bruce's voice is even. "Loki, what did you do?"

Loki doesn't open his eyes. He slumps against the crate and clenches himself together more. He wishes there was less light. At least this way, Banner is not forced to see that his eyes glow in the dark. That red pulse-the hideous red hue-is hidden beneath his disgusting eyelids.

He is Jotun.

He is a monster.

He feels when Bruce's fingers attempt to touch at the edge of his bleeding arm and Loki snatches his limb away in a panic. What is he doing!? Banner is weak. He's mortal. Loki will burn him. He's likely already burned everyone else that's tried to help him. It's a miracle that he's survived to this point. (However he's been asleep. Judging from how weak his muscles feel, it's been a long time.)

"Loki." Banner's voice is sharp. How did he find Loki first? "Loki, let me look at it." It's not a request, but Loki still shakes his head like it is one. He doesn't open his eyes. He's terrified of what the Migardian's reaction to his eyes would be. "You're bleeding...you're bleeding everywhere. What the heck happened? Were you attacked?"

Loki shakes his head.

Banner is quiet for a long time. "Did you do this yourself?"

He flinches, but does not confirm or deny that.

Banner sighs. Loki can almost see him gripping the bridge of his nose. "Look," his voice is somehow softer. "I may not be a native Asgardian, but I've picked up enough from the last few weeks to know that you guys aren't exactly fond of the Jotuns. That's what you are, isn't it?"

How upset would Thor be if Loki strangled this man?

Is it worth the cost?

"I didn't think that you would ever...but I can't let you do this again. We need to get to Eir. She's not going to be happy."

No. No, Loki imagines she won't be. But he can't move. He thinks if he tries, he'll either collapse or vomit. A mixture of the two if his body is feeling particularly vengeful. He thinks it is. He shakes his head, trying to convey this to Banner, but without his words, there isn't a way to.

Banner can't touch him. He can't help him. (Appropriate. The hero should not help the villain.)

Either the Midgardian has mind reading abilities Loki wasn't aware of, or he comes to the same conclusion that Loki does because he sighs heavily. "Hang on a sec. I'm going to go get Heimdall's attention. Don't move. I'm serious. Hulk smashing will look like a cuddle if you move."

Because his entire ribcage snapping was warming.

He bites back a moan and buries his head into his hands. He doesn't want to face anyone. He can't stand the thought of being seen. He is disgusting. Filthy. Bloody. Broken. Insane. He tore his own skin open. He isn't even sorry about it. It helped. It cleared his mind, if for a little bit. Now is the frazzled mess again.

He wishes that Banner had never found him. That no one found him. That he could have withered away behind this crate as the wretched animal he is. That he would have-

"Alright." Banner interrupts his darkening thoughts. "I think we're good. If you're lucky, Eir will find you first."

That's lucky?

He hears Banner take a seat across from him. Loki would find it amusing if he didn't feel so terrible. Banner does not trust him alone. Not that Loki can exactly blame him, but still. Everyone likes to pretend that the sanity he facaded with was permanent. The madness was always dwelling beneath the surface. Leaving scars just as much as Thanos had.

"Hey." Fingers snap near his face. Loki twitches. "You still with me?"

Unfortunately.

"Do you feel sick? Just shake or nod your head." Banner instructs. Loki's shoulders slump with annoyance. He doesn't want to answer an interrogation. He doesn't want to do anything. He wants to lay down and collapse.

Loki shakes his head.

"Are you being honest?"

Another shake.

Banner sighs, muttering something that sounds close to "well at least he's admitting to it," under his breath before asking in a patient tone: "Do you think you have a fever?"

A shake.

"Did you throw up?"

A nod.

"More than once?"

Loki nods again. He can feel Banner's soft disapproval and resists the urge to throw himself forward and start screaming. He can't actually do that, and, in the long run, it will serve no greater purpose than to widen the rift between him and Thor. The Midgardian has to be protected. Thor is so fond of his Avengers.

* * *

Deleted Scene: 

Hela jerks to her feet, swearing under her breath before flicking her wrist-a thin dagger appearing-and flings it with perfect aim. A noise escapes Thor as the dagger lands inside of Loki's sternum. Or what would have been if Loki had been here. The illusion shimmers in the light and Loki gives a sad sort of smile.

He's not here.

"No." Thor breathes and jerks up to his feet. "Loki-don't do this. Don't-"

"I'm sorry," Loki says softly, letting his gaze linger on them. Hela releases another curse as the table breaks into outraged chaos, many of the members leaping to their feet and pointing accusing fingers towards him. Loki keeps their gaze.

"Loki-" Thor tries again, leaping to his feet. Panic is beginning to play with his insides, making everything tight and compressed. His lungs don't feel capable of taking any air in, let alone a full breath.

"Brother-" Hela starts furiously. Her tone is dripping with the venom. She cuts herself off, spinning around on her heal and obviously intending to track their brother down and drag him back into the room. Thor twists, beginning to follow.

"Wait," Loki's projection re-forms in front of them and Thor stops, tipping onto his toes to keep himself from walking through it. Loki's hands are lifted, he's looking between the two of them as if trying to memorize every fine detail of their faces. "I'm sorry." Loki repeats.

"Tell it to my face." Hela seethes, "When I can actually punch yours in. Don't be stupid. There isn't a point to-"

"You don't know him like I do." Loki says hopelessly, desperately. "I have to. There's no other option. Let me do this. It's okay…it will be okay." Loki inhales steadily, quieter, he pleads, "Let me go."

"You are not leaving!" Thor rages. "As your king, I forbid you from leaving this ship!"

Lord Arkenson is spitting out an impressive array of profanities and Bruce is trying to ask him something, but Thor isn't paying attention.

Loki smiles weakly. "I suppose we'll have to add another mark to my treason tally, then."

"Loki!"

"I assure you both that the sun will shine on us again." Loki promises, face dropping. He closes his eyes and breathes out slowly before mouthing something Thor thinks is "I love you" and the illusion washes out as Hela reaches for it. Thor feels his stomach drop to his knees as horror washes through him. The Tesseract, sitting on the table, vanishes just as quickly.

Loki took it.

Loki knows that's a one-way trip.

"Oh, Norns," Thor breathes, attempting to breathe. He can't. The compression is too much. Loki turned himself in.

* * *

Alternate Ending:

I know this isn't much.

I'd meant to offer more, but I...suppose I never really thought this would happen. I've managed to evade this for so long that death doesn't feel quite real to me. The concept of it happening to me. I know death a little too well now.

It's a bit of strange magic that conjures after death, but I suppose I've always been a bit strange in that way.

A long time ago, I would have believed that no one would read this. I didn't think that anyone would care. Even Mother. I'm still not sure that I trust that it will be looked after. I know that I've done awful things. That I've never been exactly what you needed me to be and I'm sorry. I wanted to be more. To be better. But I also fell a long time ago, and I don't know if I ever quite stopped.

I've disclosed information about a threat approaching on the horizon if you don't already know about him. His name is Thanos. There's other papers in here to explain what I couldn't say. I think that a childish part of me believed that if I could somehow manage to forget then...maybe he would too. But I still need you to know. Asgard is gone, but I've prepared them in every way I can. The Reality Stone is on Knowhere, Time and Mind on Earth. I've heard that Xandar is storing Power, and Space was with me. You need to reach the Stones before he does.

Please. This one thing for me. Do not let him collect the Stones. Stop him when I couldn't.

I want you to know that I...I'm sorry. About what happened. Whatever it was that finally finished me off. I imagine that it was rather anti-climatic. I seem to have a talent for that.

Thor-I am proud to call you my king. You were a better man than I. You always will be. You are also the most aggravating prat I have ever known in my life. And your helmet was and always will be feathers.

Hela-You frustrate me. Incredibly. But I couldn't have asked for a better sister. If there is one thing I am proud of, it is that I did not leave you for Surtur.

Take care of each other. And Asgard. Tell Heimdall that I'm sorry about trying to kill him, but in fairness he did try to take off my head. And explain to Brunnhilde that I robbed her, will you? She never did figure that out.

This isn't a permanent goodbye. It's just a momentary parting.

Thank you for everything.

Until Helheim-because none of us are going to Valhalla,

-Loki.

000o000

"How long have they been there?" Peter questions, tipping his head up towards Tony as he stares towards the two figures standing side by side on the beach. Tony releases a long breath, glancing at the teen once before shrugging.

"A while."

"Have they spoken at all?" Peter's brow is furrowed with concern.

"I've only been here a few minutes, kid," Tony interjects. He was supposed to be discussing the funding with the King, but he didn't want to interrupt what was obviously a private moment. A little softer, he adds, "I think it's probably best to give them some space right now. After everything with New Asgard and building up a settlement...it's been a busy few weeks."

Peter nods, face solemn. "I know," he says quietly. The two of them stare at the gravestone for a moment, where the two siblings are standing side by side. Hela has her hand loosely around Thor and is leaning her head on his shoulder. They've left flowers, and some sort of food offering.

"I kind of wish I'd met him." Peter admits after a moment. Tony gives him an incredulous look and Peter lifts up his hands. "Just…I don't know. Thor speaks fondly of him. So. Yeah."

Tony shakes his head. "You're crazy."

"You're rude."

"Fair enough." Tony shoves the kid and Peter laughs lightly. The two of them watch in silence as Hela and Thor finally pull away from the gravestone and begin to work their way down the hill, but not towards them. Either they didn't see or they're attempting to ignore, both of which Tony understands. He sighs, tilting his head as he figures out a path of interception.

"C'mon kid, let's go talk with his royal pain in the butt and sister savage." Tony pulls Peter forward lightly, and the two of them begin to walk forward.

Tony thinks he sees a glimmer of green light from the corner of his eye and stops, but when he looks back, there's nothing. Just the faint smell of cinnamon. He realizes with some surprise that the gravestone is empty.

Tony's lip quirks up slightly and he gives a light shake of his head. Psychopath's still alive then. Good. Tony doesn't see Thor or Hela surviving for much longer without him. They're porcelain, the lot of them. Far more fragile than they look on first appearance, but the strongest people Tony knows.

Tony glances up when he hears shouting and laughter, then more yelling. The sun casts a long shadow, preventing him from seeing any faces, but when he looks, he sees not two silhouettes on the hill, but three.


End file.
